


Amaranth

by OuyangDan



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:18:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 54,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OuyangDan/pseuds/OuyangDan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Origins-centric fic featuring my f!Cousland, Kahrin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in a series of drabbles, and may appear out of order (and in a few cases, a different PoV). Once it's finished, I will re-arrange and heavily edit. Thanks for your patience!

_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade_

_For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light_

_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost._

-Trials 1:14

 

It was the first time she’d ever thought about where people went when they left the world.

She knew the stories, the dogma, that said people returned to the Maker’s side when they passed from life. The Maker had turned away so long ago, and it was said that that He would only return when the Chant was sung in all the corners of the world. 

Faith was not something she had ever put much stock in. Why beg for the sight of a Maker who turned away in a fit of pique?

Never again would she travel the halls of her home. There was no light. There was no evidence that any Maker was looking upon her now. 

When they had put distance between her home and themselves, when a copse of trees covered them, giving them precious moments to breathe, they stopped running for the first time. It was a momentary respite and she knew it.

The fires still lit the sky as the dawn broke over the horizon. The smoke curled up off of the land that she could no longer see, reaching to block out the sun.

It would have been appropriate. There was nothing left for the sun to shine upon.

Perhaps that had been her folly. Perhaps this was her own Oblivion.

The hand that clasped her shoulder startled her. Pulling away, she glared up at the owner of the hand, her face speaking her disdain for him more than any words could. With a jerk of his head, he reminded her that they had to keep moving. They didn’t have the lead they needed to ensure their escape.

With another glance to the horizon, she nodded her assent. 

She was wandering. She was fading. She wondered where they went, all of them. Did they find the side of the Maker? Certainly the Maker had not wrought her; surely she was a discarded child. 

The only thing she knew for sure was that she was indeed lost.


	2. The Rain Goes On

It was raining when they made it to Ostagar.

Not just the sort of rain that she’d been used to in Amaranthine. The kind of rain that she and Nathaniel would stand in as children, looking up at the sky and blinking out of their lashes.

That thought stopped as soon as it started. Kahrin couldn’t even _think_ about Amaranthine without her stomach rolling over, though the nausea could have been from not having eaten much since they’d set out on the road. 

This rain was cold. It soaked into her clothes and made her shiver down to her bones.

She truly, wholly, beyond anything, hated being cold. Yet, she stood, not swearing at the rain because after all of these weeks of travel she still couldn’t _feel_ anything. Her hair was a sodden heap down her back and it dripped water into her collar, but she didn’t flinch.

She’d spoken very little, slept even less, and could not imagine she’d been pleasant company. Blessedly, Duncan had left her to her own counsel almost the entirety of the flight from Highever. It was kindness she would not thank him for, though she suspected he knew. 

She’d also not cried. 

More specifically, she _wouldn’t_ cry. She wouldn’t allow tears to happen, because come what may she _could not break down_. It would be a gate lifted, releasing long held-back waters which would swallow her whole in the current. She knew that she had to keep her head above the tide.

Duncan had sent her with very vague instructions to find some other Warden. He gave little description beyond “you’ll know him when you see him”. She didn’t _need_ a nursemaid, and resented the fact that he wouldn’t tell her anything more about what all of the Grey Warden business entailed. She desperately wanted to argue back and say those very things, instead she clenched her jaw and maintained her quiet. It had been her best defense thus far. 

Truth be told, she didn’t _care_. She’d come to understand that there was no going back, even if the dead could be reclaimed by the living. She might always be a Cousland in her blood and name — such as they were — but her path had diverged with finality. The trade that was made for her life began there, she reminded myself stoically as she gripped the signet, turned inward on her hand, pressing the crest of Highever into the pads of her palm. Fergus was meant to wear it, not her. She could not even grasp a reality where this was not possible, yet she knew she might have to.

She pushed the unwelcome thought from her mind. Fergus yet lived, and it was a child’s wish which she clung to. She was not naive enough to think otherwise, not having been a child for years. Still, she allows herself this one pretty lie. 

The ruins remained intact enough that occasional peeks of sun dappled the ground, even with the rain pelting on the deteriorating stones. She tried to remember the last time she saw the sun — really saw it. Saw it and not gazed into nothing while oblivious of anything around her while it rose or set without notice. It became a welcome enough distraction from dark thoughts as she walked along, actually making an odd game of it. She attempted to only step on the sunlit spots. She hadn’t done anything quite so childish since … well since she was a child. 

She knew what she _needed_. A _real_ distraction. Something or _someone_ to pour her attention into, to forget about everything and maybe … just maybe _feel_. Feel anything. Anything at all. 

Apparently women weren’t common among the Wardens — something already learned both from Duncan and from the openly lurid looks some of the others sent her way as if she were a violet mabari. It seemed it would be easy enough to find someone who was both suitable and amenable to something non-committal.

This was what she was doing — nearly hopping from sunspot to sunspot and making a plan for attack — when the sounds of a very heated argument pulled her attention out of her own thoughts. She didn’t know what they were arguing about, and didn’t care. 

Were she the praying sort she might have considered doing so just then, thinking she’d stumbled into a bit of luck. In the middle of her path of sunspots stood what she could only guess to be about six feet and two inches of distraction. Broad and tall and exactly her type, though she tried not to think about that too much. Messy hair and clearly a warrior head to boot, judging by the shield on his back. Her first thought was not entirely proper, nor her second. She probably should have been blushing, but all she could think about were her fingers in that hair and her mouth—

“I’ll tell you one thing about a Blight. It really seems to bring people together.”

The mage stormed off, leaving her obliviously staring. The tall blond man had also started talking to her.

“I’m sorry … what?” She lifted an eyebrow, not sure what she’d heard. Suddenly she wished she’d taken Duncan’s advice and bathed in the stream last eve.

“Oh, you know. We’ll just all hold hands and sing and the darkspawn will see we’re having a good time and turn around and call the whole Blight off.”

The muscles in her face pulled oddly, and after several moments she realized she was smiling. It’d been so long she’d forgotten what it felt like. Actually, she’d forgotten that she _could_ smile, and for the first time in weeks she forgot for just a moment that she’d lost everything dear to her. She smiled for the slightest fraction of a moment, and even heard a chuckle. It took a heartbeat to realize it was her who made the sound. Not sure she was allowed to laugh, it felt slightly inappropriate. It also felt _good_.

“Maybe they don’t know the words,” she offered, and that seemed to amuse him. He was funny. He was also the first person there who didn’t seem to be stuck with a permanently dour expression — not that she blamed anyone. Certainly she’d not been any better.

“You must be the new recruit,” the sandy-haired man observed, holding out a hand to her.

She shook his hand firmly. “And you must be Alistair.” As logical a guess as any.

“Aha! My reputation precedes me, I see.” Before she was ready to stop touching him he pulled his hand back and crossed his arms across his _very broad chest_.  “Say, you’re a woman.”

“Evidently,” she replied with a hint of dryness. She tried to catch his eyes, but he looked everywhere but at her. “Is that how you win the favor of women? With your keen powers of observation?” Having a bit of fun with him, she was disappointed when he didn’t catch on. The way he shifted uncomfortably amused her as much as it puzzled her. Idly she spun a piece of hair around a finger and didn’t notice until his eyes flicked to the movement.

“Ah, no, that’s not what I … I didn’t. Look. I’m not some kind of lecher.”

She shrugged. Her mouth curled up further on one side. “I wasn’t complaining. No harm done.” She shifted her weight to her other foot and cocked her hip out. She thought she saw him pink through the cheeks. She knew she heard him clear his throat. “I’m going to enjoy traveling with you.”

“You are? Huh. That’s … new.” He stood quiet for a moment. “Right. OK. Well, uh … I didn’t ask your name.” He ran a hand down the back of his head and tugged at his ear.

“No, you didn’t.” She tilted her head. He went from funny to awkward faster than a mabari shook her stub of a tail.

He seemed stymied for the moment. He shuffled awkwardly and then gestured ahead of him.

“We should find Duncan and the others. There’s others. They’re not … I mean. Others.” He half-grinned and started walking. 

She scurried to catch up, puzzled. “It’s Kahrin.”

“What?”

“My name. You didn’t ask.”

He stopped. “Oh. Right. My manners. Where are you from, Kahrin?” He avoided looking at her again, but all she could think of was how much she did not want to answer his question.

Her smile faded, melting from her eyes and settling before her mouth pressed itself into a thin line. “Nowhere of consequence,” she muttered. It was true enough.

Now it was his turn to look puzzled. She jerked her head once in the direction they just walked a moment ago, and then continue on.


	3. Distractions

“It’s never going to happen, you know.”

Kahrin turned her head and looked at Daveth. She had recently learned he had formerly been a cutpurse in Denerim.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Him. The Templar. You’ve been staring at him like he’s a mutton chop on a spit since we got here.” He gave her a very knowing smile.

“I have not!” She paused for a moment. “Templar?  Alistair’s not—“

Daveth shrugged. “Maybe not _officially_ , but I hear that chantry education runs deep. If you’re lookin’ to toss your pretty self at someone, there are plenty of other fine, eligible, and _willing_ people at your disposal, who haven’t married themselves to the Maker.”

Kahrin lifted an eyebrow at him, suppressing a smirk. The shadows cast by the firelight made most of his features indiscernible. What she _could_ see was that grin of his. Similar to a cat with a prize songbird in its paws. She recognized that look. She’d used that look.

“Oh? Is that a fact?” She brushed a strand of her dark hair out of her face and behind her ear. Reclining back onto the heels of her hands, she contemplated his words for a long time. The truth was that Alistair seemed like a nice person. They’d hit it off fairly well, and she found him sweet and amusing. It was his humor which she’d appreciated the most, it pulling her from the dark navel gazing she was prone to these days. She was looking for something quick and frivolous. Something to make her forget, something to make her _feel_. She had known him less than a day and knew that she wasn’t cruel enough to do that to him. He wasn’t the type. She could tell. In a way he reminded her of … _No_. “I am not usually baited by such obvious flattery, ser. I am curious though; did you have a suggestion as to who might be more appropriate?”

He let a short bark of laughter which caused Ser Jory to turn his head in their direction with a disapproving glare. Even if he hadn’t struck her as a bit stand-offish, Kahrin had kept a distance from the knight. He had a wife in Highever. She wasn’t sure if she had it in her to tell him the news. She certainly didn’t need him to know who _she_ was.

Ducking their faces down like children scolded by a scribe, they covered their mouths against snickers.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” His voice was low and full of mischief. “In fact I can introduce you to him.”

“Really?”

“Yes, ser. I am a well-connected individual.” He stood up and extended a hand to her. “Shall we?”

She hesitated just a moment. They had made a big deal about there not being many women in the Wardens. Perhaps this was why.

_Don’t be ridiculous_ , she told herself. They were both adults. He was willing. She was willing. Glancing around the bonfire where some of the others were finishing up their dinners, she made up her mind. Alistair looked up in her direction and she purposefully avoided his face. 

“Introduce me to this fine and upstanding gentleman who is so worthy of my time.” She took his hand and the help up with a curl to the side of her lips.

“Well,” he laughed. “I didn’t say all that, now did I? Only that he’d be willing.”

It was good they were supposed to be at dinner. It hadn’t occurred to her that having a tent to herself had been a privilege. Without a care for his bunkmate’s belongings, Daveth pushed her into the bedroll, working the buckles on her armour with surprising ease. He almost too eagerly slid her skirted leathers down, dragging her smalls after with skimming fingers that left a trail of gooseflesh in their wake.

“You’ve done this before,” she panted against his mouth, pulling straps free. She backed her head away from his long enough to navigate his cuirass away from him. Her own leathers fell away, and he yanked and pulled her tunic over her head.

He sucked in a low groan. “You don’t wear—“

She laughed. “Does it look like I need to? Is that a problem?”

“Hardly,” he growled, catching her mouth again. He kneaded one hand over her chest, rolling the ball of his thumb over her nipple. “Anything more than a mouthful is wasteful, I always say.”

“Oh? _Oh._ ” He lowered his head to her breast and demonstrated his meaning aptly, eliciting a low keen from her that she immediately tried to muffle. She let her head drop back and closed her eyes while the fingers of his free hand dug into the muscles of her back, then down over her arse, around her hip, and in between her upper thighs. She let out a sudden purr, bucking against his hand. “I see.”

“Not yet you don’t.” Giving a sharp tug on her thighs, he pulled her legs over his shoulders. “You will though.” He gave a light nip to the inside of her thigh and grinned when she shuddered, hips flexing towards him in anticipation.

A distraction was what she had wanted, and he took to that task zealously and attentively. After he’d given her a few moments to collect herself, he positioned himself in between her legs, bracing himself on his palms.

“No,” she told him, shaking her head from side to side, but giving him a grin.

“No?” He moved to sit back, but she locked her legs around him, hooking her feet under his rump and jerking him towards her.

“ _No_ ,” she repeated. “Roll over.” She bit her lip and leaned her weight against him. He pretended to fight it as he flopped to his back, his head landing on someone’s pack. Once she was astride him, she placed a knee on either side of his hips, digging her toes into the bedroll. “Much better. Now, where were we?”

“Right here,” he told her, his voice dripping with promise and grasping her hips. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Taking a deep breath, she paused a moment to psyche herself up. _You can do this. You need to do this. It’s just a tryst. Don’t get sentimental now._

She blinked against an intrusive memory. A flash of copper hair in her mind, which she shoved away, locking it in a box. “I wouldn’t dream of it, ser.” She pressed her chest to his, sealed her mouth over his, and as slowly as she could she lowered herself onto him.

She sucked in a quick breath, he let out a strangled groan. Using her bent legs for leverage, she set the rhythm, quick and frantic, and he arched his hips up to meet her thrust for thrust. Panting, her breath coming in quick catches, she slid against him. He buried fingers into her sweaty hair, gripping a fistful and yanking back gently to expose her throat. He hungrily ran his mouth anywhere he could reach while she let out staccato yelps.

Trying to keep her focus on him buried within her, she pushed against him harder, wanting, _needing_ her climax to come quickly. She concentrated on it, begging for the release of the pressure building low in her belly. There was a desperate need for the coil that had formed there to unfurl. The more she tried to will it to happen, the further it seemed from her grasp.

“Ah. _Shi_ t.” She sat up and shoved her hands into her hair in aggravation. “I just … ugh. I can’t,” she grunted. 

Daveth froze in place, releasing her hair and loosing his grasp on her arse. “You … can’t what? Is something wrong?” There was an uncharacteristic tone of concern to match his suddenly rigid posture.

“I’m sorry … I just … I can’t … you didn’t … nothing’s …” The sob came to her so fast she couldn’t have stopped it had she wanted to.

He sat bolt upright, folding her to him, pulling out of her completely. “Are you all right? I didn’t mean—“

“No,” she wailed, trying to keep her voice down. “It’s not … it’s not you. I just … oh Maker.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she murmured again. In truth, she did. She hadn’t, but it seemed that it was better tucked away, out of thought. _How’s that working for you?_

Slowly, in ragged sobs, she told him everything. The siege, the fighting, finding Oren and Oriana. The betrayal, and how angry she was with Duncan. The whole of the story poured out like a dam unleashed.

“Shh …” he hushed her helplessly. “Just let it out.”

“I haven’t told anyone. No one knows. I don’t want anyone to know who I am. They might … what if Howe finds me? If my brother is dead what if—“

“Look,” he told her seriously. “I haven’t stayed out of the noose as long as I have by not being able to keep secrets.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“No need. Look this … is not all I’m good for. I mean, it’s certainly a good time if I say so myself.”

She smiled despite herself. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. I think I could use a friend.”

He made a dramatic flinch. “You wound me. Just a friend? After all of this?”

She laughed again, finally, sniffling. “Don’t press your luck, ser.”

Pulling away from him, she began tugging her clothes back on. It was dark, and she just hoped she was grabbing her own belongings. That would be complicated to explain.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to my tent. Thank you, Daveth. Really, but I should go.” She worried over her lower lip. “You know, in case the other guy gets back and wants to sleep.”

“Let me come with you, at least. You shouldn’t be alone. And, you never know. Maybe you’ll want to pick up where we left off.”

Sitting back on her heels, she considered it. She should have told him no. She should just go, find her tent, and get a good night’s sleep before they had to go out into the Wilds in the morning.

“Give me a ten minute head start. Then follow.” She backed out of the tent, feeling her face for tears. “Just don’t expect to make a habit of this.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She was almost certain she could hear him smile.

“Ten minutes. If you’re late I am tying the flap shut.” She stood up and gave the campfire a wide berth on her way back to her tent.

 


	4. Observations

The sun shone brightly in the sky, belying the frigid conditions below it. The weather was harsh in the South, even though it was spring, and the snow mostly receded. The stark sky was cloudless, making it nearly impossible to look up. The remaining snow ahead reflected the sun in a harsh glare. Despite all the sun, the Wilds were lacking warmth.

From the sky, however, t’was fairly easy to see down. The raven darted and swooped gracefully across the open air, weaving in and out of branches as it suited her. Occasionally she would pause, perching lightly on whatever surface she could grasp. Ruffling and preening her elegant black feathers, glinting with a variegated green and blue, she kept a fair distance from the group of intruders.

It was not difficult to keep up with and follow them. They weren’t particularly quiet about their business. They barreled along, crashing into their prey with enough ruckus to wake the spirits resting there. Little concern it was of hers. They were actually doing a favor to her home by culling their numbers, even if they were only few compared to what was coming. It was, however, little wonder that they seemed to draw every darkspawn within a broad radius. The large one called orders — or something that seemed like they would have been had he used any authority at all. The more lithe of the men never seemed to cease in his incessant prattle. The woman she watched with interest. There was something unnatural about her quietness, yet when the time came she moved with authority and urgency. She had a haunted expression about her — familiar in a way. There was survival in her eyes, though it was clouded over with frivolous sadness.

Accepting that Mother knew what she was doing, the raven leapt elegantly and took wing again, circling around them once and flying ahead.

 

~^v^~

 

As Kahrin blinked and looked around, the green and blue flashes that burned into her vision temporarily blocked her regular field of view. The glare was inhibiting her ability to watch her flanks, and she clenched her eyes against it as she crouched down beside Alistair.

“I can help with that,” she offered. 

“No!,” he nearly barked, then softened his tone. “I mean, no thank you. I can handle this part.”

“OK.” She backed up a step and gave him space to fill the small vials with the blood of the newest member of the dead darkspawn club.

Tilting her head to the side, she puzzled slightly. He had seemed a bit colder today. Maybe Daveth was right, maybe he’d sensed she was looking at him a little too long the day before. Now that she’d … managed to get her mind off of _things_ , she had found it a little easier to just relax around Alistair and … _What?_ she asked herself. _Be friends?_

Did she know how to do that?

Daveth walked past her, giving her a subtle nudge against the rump with his hip. Sure that no one had noticed, she lifted an eyebrow at him and winked as he wandered off to inspect the things that had been dropped by the darkspawn. 

Alistair coughed, then stood. “I think this is all we need. Now. We just need to find those …” He trailed off, watching as Daveth returned and spoke to Kahrin so low that they were standing with barely a breath of space between them.

“You left your smalls in my tent,” Daveth told her, leaning so closely to her ear that he made it tickle without touching her.

“ _You_ were in _my_ tent, ser, if I remember correctly.” She bit her lower lip as the smile curved her mouth. The expunging of all her tightly held secrets had helped to brighten her mood. She still mourned and burned with a need for vengeance, but it was easier to hold it back today than yesterday.

“My mistake. I meant that I left my smalls in your tent.”

Her mouth fell open and she giggled before she could stop herself. “That’s not fair,” she told him as he backed away, making her have to speak up to be heard.

“My lady, I don’t believe in playing fair. Not when making up my own rules seems to get me what I want.”

His salacious grin made her flush, tilting her head to the side slightly. She was going to be good and distracted over that thought for a while. Suddenly that skirted leather of his seemed so much more appealing.

“Daveth, why don’t you scout ahead a bit,” Alistair told him, his face slightly pink. “Ser Jory, keep a bit of a distance just in case, but don’t lose him.

“I’m quieter,” Kahrin told him. “I can cover him.” 

“You’re not as quiet as you think.”

Kahrin lifted her eyebrow at him while the other two moved ahead. “Meaning?”

“I … uh. I didn’t mean anything by it.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I’m not one to tell you how to … conduct yourself.”

“Yet, I feel like you’re about to do just that.”

“No. No, it’s not that. Just … it’s not a good idea to get attached to one another.” He looked grave, then turned his face away. “Not until you know.”

“Is this some initiate rule? Don’t make friends until the first month?” She kicked at a small stone as they walked along. “Is this where you tell me that I need to mind my conduct because of first impressions, so the other Wardens will take the woman seriously? Or, wait.” She stopped and faced him. “Let me guess. A fine lady like myself should be more mindful of her decorum.”

He sighed, almost exasperated. “No. Look, you don’t know me …”

“I’d like to.”

“You don’t know me,” he continued, “and I am pretty sure that I’m not the sort of person you are interested in knowing—“

“You do not know that.”

He pressed his lips together as they continued walking, looking about them as if he were listening to something that she couldn’t hear. “I don’t. You’re right. You just need to be more careful until after.”

“After what?” she asked him, lifting a tattooed eyebrow at him.

She didn’t get an answer. He pulled his sword and unslung his shield before Ser Jory had even come running back towards them, bawling about darkspawn ahead.

Kahrin had her swords in her hands almost instantly, giving Alistair a quizzical look. “You’re going to have to teach me how you do that.”

With a jerk of his chin, he answered. “If I get the chance, I will.” He ran off after Jory, Kahrin on his heels.

The trail of darkspawn lay behind them as Daveth limped along, supporting himself on Kahrin and Alistair to comical effect with their height discrepancies.  

“It seemed like a good idea. It worked for a little while anyhow,” Daveth explained a bit more cheerily than he should have been for having such a gash on the back of his leg. 

“You would be surprised the things that don’t work on darkspawn,” Alistair told him with good humor. “As it turns out they don’t negotiate well, either. They are terribly stubborn on their position.”

Kahrin chuckled, letting Jory take up her place under Daveth’s arm which made walking easier for him. 

“They didn’t seem very swayed by my charms, and I am incredibly charming.” Daveth paused, readjusting his step before putting his weight on the injured leg.

Kahrin responded with a half-grin. They got him to a rock outside a crumbling ruin of what seemed to be an old temple. Kahrin took out some bandages from her pack and began wrapping his leg. The clearing around them was quiet, save the caw of a single bird which flew over their heads.

Alistair looked at the injury with concern. “We’re going to want to watch that,” he said almost to no one. “Wrap it tightly. I believe that is where we are headed.” He gestured ahead of them. “Once we get in, get our treaties, we can head back. One of the healers should see him right away.”

Kahrin nodded, standing and offering Daveth a hand to help him up. “Then let’s go and get back. The sooner we get this whole thing over with, the better, if you ask me.”

“Yes,” Alistair said quietly. “Best to get it over with.”

They made their way across the clearing, cautiously. Whatever it was that Alistair was waiting for seemed to have him on edge as they quietly entered the remains of the building. Scouring for several minutes in different directions, they carefully moved aside rubble, trying not to disturb the slowly decaying ruin more than they had to. 

It was remarkable the way that nature had begun to reclaim the structure after so long. Creeping greenery and moss had begun to grow in and through the cracks, pushing it further apart and weakening it in some places, but binding and holding it together in others. After using her knife to cut away a bit of what appeared to be an ivy, Kahrin hefted a slab out of the way, revealing a crushed chest.

“Over here! I found something.” It was demolished. There was hardly anything left of it, and if anything had been inside it, it was long gone.

“That doesn’t look good,” Alistair said lowering his voice. He bristled for a moment when a bird cawed, the sound fading, then he seemed to settle. “Let’s get out of here.” He seemed rather dejected, but antsy at the same time.

Kahrin scoured the area around the chest, moving aside grass and bits of stone. “Hold on, give me a minute. Maybe they’re scattered about—“

“Well, well. What have we here?”

The four of them jerked their heads in the direction of the voice instantly. From the shadowed portion at the top of a crumbling set of stairs a lithe woman, frail looking — which Kahrin knew did not always indicate weakness — stepped down with cat-like grace. One foot in front of the other. Pausing mid-way, she crossed her thin arms across her chest and lifted a brow over an impossibly golden eye, clearly expecting to be answered.

Kahrin stood up slowly, hands twitching for her blades as the other three drew closer.

The woman simply smiled, though it didn’t look entirely friendly.


	5. Wilder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flowers grow in the Wilds as well as toads. Tempers flare.

The woman’s brow was drawn down, her eyes peering out and almost through them. The timbre and cadence of her voice seemed as though she were talking to herself, and they only there to listen by chance. “I have watched your progress for some time. Where do they go, I wondered. Why are they here? And now you touch ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?”

“Don’t answer her,” Alistair’s voice was low, the hint of menace obvious. “She looks Chasind. There may be more of them.”

Kahrin said nothing as she examined the situation. She’d never seen a Wilder before. The woman before her certainly didn’t look like a baby-eating monster barbarian.  _I don’t exactly look like the daughter of a Teyrn_ , she thought bitterly, with dirt smudged over her face and her boots nearly worn through.

The woman’s glare stuck to Alistair, her generous mouth pulled down in obvious disapproval. “You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?” she mocked him, waving her arms about her head wildly.

Alistair had moved himself bodily between Kahrin and the woman in front of them, earning him an eyeroll as she tried to move around him. He blocked the woman from view. “Yes. Swooping is bad.”

He crossed his arms and Kahrin ducked under his elbow. She’d be damned if she was going to let him play knight savior to her, not after what she’d survived. Despite his protestation she scampered around him, watching the woman warily. The voices of Daveth and Jory faded to a tinny buzzing as her brow furrowed. She caught one thing. “She’s a witch of the wilds, she is.”

“Witch of the wilds.” A secret smile curled the woman’s lips. 

Fortunately there were no bugs swarming around. Kahrin might have caught a mouthful of them, the way her jaw gaped. “I don’t… but that’s not…”

“Such idle fancies. Have you no minds of your own?” The woman seemed amused, which sent a chill up Kahrin’s spine. She was toying with them like a cat with a mouse it wasn’t yet ready to kill, and she resented it immediately. Howe had toyed with her similarly, and Kahrin bristled, the tendons in her neck and jaw tightening. “You, there.”

Kahrin jumped. “Me?”

“Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.”

A twig snapped under Alistair’s greave as he stepped forward. “That’s enough.”

“It’s Kahrin. Pleased to meet you.” She ignored Alistair. The manners spilled easily from her as nerves gripped her.

“And you may call me Morrigan.”

Kahrin stepped a little closer, holding out a hand as if to shake. Morrigan regarded it like it might be a rat offered to her. “We’re—“ 

“I might guess your purpose. You sought something in that chest. Something here no longer.”

“Here no longer!” Kahrin had almost forgotten Alistair looming over her shoulder until he barked. “You stole them, didn’t you? You sneaky… witch… thief.”

“How very eloquent. How does one steal from dead men?”

“Don’t argue with her. She’ll put us in a pot,” Jory muttered with a rising panic.

“We can’t trust her.”

“It is not only monsters who live in the wilds.” She eyed Alistair with a clear look of disgust. “Flowers grow here as well as toads.”

“Yes. And which are you, I wonder.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes skyward and Kahrin scrubbed her eyes with the heels of her hand. “Stop!” Taking a breath, she addressed the woman who had several inches on her, her skin a stark contrast against the raven hair tied away from her face. “If you do not have them, then who does?”

The corner of her lips twitched as she turned her gaze down to Kahrin’s. “A sensible question. My mother, actually.”

Alistair’s hand rested on Kahrin’s shoulder, but she shrugged it away. “Can you take us to meet her? We really need those treaties.”

Morrigan’s mouth turned up fully now. “Indeed I can.”

Kahrin exhaled a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. “Thank you.” She didn’t wait for the others. They needed out of the Wilds, and the fastest way to do that was to get their treaties and leave. 

“Kahrin.” Alistair gripped her arm and pulled her back. “What are you doing?”

She stared at his hand on her arm, her eyes wide. “I’m getting our treaties. More efficiently than you bickering with her.” The sharpness of her voice was left over from earlier, from his pointed lecturing about Daveth and conduct.

“You don’t know where she’s taking us.”

Kahrin tilted her head, her lips pursing at him as she yanked her arm away. “Three big strong men and me. I think we’ll be fine.” The challenge in her eyes brewed with all the anger she couldn’t let out.

“That’s not yours to decide.” There was a hint of growl in his voice that she actually welcomed. 

She was champing for a fight, and she’d take it if he was offering. How in the world had she mooned over him just the day before? He was aggravatingly nosy and judgmental, and likely should never have left the Chantry. “Then order me to stop.”

His brows raised and his eyes hardened, but he stood up. “By all means. Lead on.”

She glared hard at him for a few moments, her nostrils flaring with the breaths which let steam into the air between them. Turning hard on her heel she strode after Morrigan, who hadn’t bothered to wait up.

 

#

 

Kahrin had never met a mage, let alone an apostate — or so she was sure anyhow. She wouldn’t have known a mage from a peddler of leeches from a sheep herd. If she’d had an idea what the Witch of the Wilds looked like, the wizened woman who greeted them — such as it were — was not it.

Her, rather. 

“Much as I expected.” The elder mage looked at them prejudicially. Her eyes, like her daughter’s, dragged over them, lingering upon Kahrin who had placed herself at the front.

“You expect us to believe you were expecting us?” Alistair snorted. 

“You are required to do nothing. Least of all believe.”

Kahrin cut him off from what was sure to be a stunningly witty remark. “I beg your pardon… uh… I apologise, what do I call you?”

“Such manners. In the least likely places. Like socks.” Her eyes danced a little, the light hitting her face almost everywhere except the liquid gold irises. “So seldom do I receive such noble treatment.” She smiled at Kahrin. “Names are pretty, but useless. If you need one, however, the Chasind call me Flemeth.”

Kahrin’s eyes shot wide.

“Flemeth?” Even she’d heard of  _Flemeth_. In stories and legends and tales meant to scare young girls into staying out of the woods.

The awe in Kahrin’s voice seemed to please the woman. Or annoy her. It was really difficult to tell with her face. “We get so few visitors, especially such important ones.”

“We’re not Grey Wardens yet,” Kahrin told her a little defiantly. 

“As if that is all that matters in the grander scheme.” Flemeth nearly murmured, the same way Morrigan had earlier in the Wilds. 

“We still need those treaties.”

Flemeth’s mouth cornered upward. “I have kept them safe for you. Your wards had long since worn away.”

“So you admit that you—“ Alistair ran out of steam mid-sentence. “You protected them?”

“For all the thanks I get, it seems.” She stared at him for a moment, looking through him. “They are inside. Come, Warden.” She gestured to Alistair, who balked.

The other three of them looked at each other, Kahrin frowning deeply.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Kahrin whispered as he took a breath and walked past her. She grasped his arm.

The look he returned was familiar enough already, even after only two days. “Then order me to stop.” He pulled his arm away.

She pressed her mouth into a line, watching him follow Flemeth into the little shack. 

 

 


	6. Ordeal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair sass and Kahrin 'tude incoming. This was supposed to be a srs bsns chapter, not hot makeouts. Oops.

They spoke very little on the way back. Incidental things only.  _Watch your step_.  _Darkspawn comin_ g.  _It looks like it might rain so we should hurry_.

Alistair had come out of the hut, his face drawn and slightly pale. Whatever passed between them, Kahrin was almost afraid to ask. She was sure nothing… _inappropriate_  had happened, but Alistair kept the counsel to himself. He gripped the treaties in his hands while they trudged their way back. She hadn’t known him long, but she was pretty sure that quiet was unusual.

Daveth walked unassisted, even though his leg was looking angry at the wound site despite the poultices. She offered to let him lean on her, but the suggestion seemed to aggravate him, so she let it go.  

Kahrin walked silently after that, her boots soaked through and her hair sodden from the icy drizzle that pelted them. Her eyes flicked from one to the other and back again around her traveling companions — except Ser Jory, whom she was still avoiding. As much as anyone could be avoided in a group their size.

She stared at the broad back until the sun was high overhead before she hurried to catch up to his stride. “Alistair.”

“Hmm?” He didn’t look at her.

“What did she say to you?”

When he didn’t answer, she set her jaw and trudged next to him. She lasted as long as the wall separating them from the fortification of the ruins before she stepped in front of him. The sun had just dipped into the horizon, casting athwart shadows across his face. “You haven’t said anything since the swamp. What did she say?”

For just a moment, his eyes widened. He tugged at his ear and worked his jaw as if he might answer. Then he set it, the tendons in his neck straining as he narrowed his eyes. “That is need-to-know information.”

Her own jaw tightened. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” She rolled her eyes. “I can not  _wait_  until this joining nonsense is over so I can find someone else to talk down to me.”

His chest rose and fell as he sighed. “Let’s get a move on.”

 

#

 

“We’re going to be late.” Groaning, Kahrin half-heartedly pushed against Daveth’s chest, her other hand cradling the back of his head as his lips and teeth roved over her exposed neck.

“Worth it.” His hands wandered down her back, cupping her rear as he pressed her against the tree. “Who knows when we’ll get five spare minutes again?”

Kahrin giggled, her own fingers curled around the waist of his skirted leather. “Five whole minutes? Aren’t we generous to ourselves?”

He laughed against her skin, fingers skimming up her thigh. “I only need five minutes to make you wail.”

“Good thing this is a war camp, then. Lots of sounds. No one will notice.”

“A woman screaming my name might stand out.”

“Ass.” Her eyes turned up at him as she pressed her thigh between his.

“Only if you ask really nicely.”

She curled forward, giggling, laying a hand on his chest again, letting her fingertip run along a gash in his cuirass. “Tempting.”

“Oh, ho. You are getting dangerous to even be around.”

“You have no idea.” Kahrin lifted up on her toes, purring and craning her neck for a kiss. War and death and all these damned secrets. It felt good to be close to a living, breathing, person who knew the burden she was carrying. She didn’t have to hold back, didn’t worry that she might slip and say too much. He didn’t ask anything of her, and she was more than willing to revel in that freedom. She gasped as his fingers slid under her skirt, lifting her hips towards him.

A throat cleared.

Daveth jumped back, his hands palm-out in front of him. “It wasn’t me.”

“Duncan is looking for you two. We’re about to get started.” Alistair crossed his arms, his expression neutral. “If you’re not too busy to fit us in.”

Kahrin’s face iced over as she smoothed her leathers back into place. “Nothing that can’t wait until later.”

Daveth patted her on the rump as he walked past her and she swatted him back, shooting a glare at Alistair as she did.

 

#

 

It felt like her mouth had been stuffed full of wool. Wet, freshly-shorn wool, soaked in filth and left in the darkest corner of a larder to ferment. That was putting it mildly. Kahrin tried to swallow. Her throat was too dry, and when she licked her lips to try and make saliva, she cringed at the wretched tang of blood and whatever else that had been crusted on her lips.

“You’re awake.”

She tried to push to sitting up, but the ground seemed to slam into her head as her arm buckled beneath her. A single cough escaped, choking up enough moisture that she swallowed finally. 

“Careful. Don’t sit up too fast.” Alistair moved from the stump he sat on and tried to help her.

She put her hands up and choked out. “Don’t. Don’t touch me.”

He stopped, sitting back on his heels. “Okay. You’ve been through an ordeal and—“

“Shut up.” Kahrin clenched her eyes. The world spun, jarred to a stop, and she leaned over and retched on his boots. “An ordeal?” she spat as she wiped her mouth. “Is that what you call that? An ordeal?”

He tried to be gentle, she could see it in his face as soon as all three of him merged together. “It’s going to be okay.”

She looked at him soberly, her hands shaking and stomach threatening to mutiny again. “Head-butting you in the nose would be an ordeal. My boot up your ass would be an ordeal, Alistair. That? That was…”

“Horrifying and awful. I know.” His expression was grim and drawn. “But you lived, for better or for worse.”

_Again_. She gritted her teeth and managed to get to her hands and knees. “Lucky me.”

“You have no idea,” he said quietly. 

She snorted. She very much wanted to argue that point.

“In my Joining, only one of us died, but it was… horrible.”

Closing her eyes, Kahrin saw image of Daveth writhing on the ground at her feet as the darkspawn blood poisoned him violently and claimed him, adding it to the vivid memories she already had. More lives she couldn’t stop to mourn. One of them, once again, a friend. Or so she’d thought.

“You might have warned me.” She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth.

“Can you imagine if we had? We would have more people like Ser Jory—“ 

Her eyes darted to him, narrowing sharply. “Speaking of Ser Jory. Was that necessary?”

Alistair’s voice turned grim. “You know there is no going back once you set on this path.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then snapped it shut. She knew. She knew as well as she knew anything. “Still.”

“Still. Ser Jory and Daveth died as Grey Wardens.”

She snorted again, choking over bile. “For all the good it does anyone.” 

He sighed deeply. “At any rate, the King wants to see us. And…” His mouth turned down. “What the King wants, the King gets.”

“Why does the King want to see me?”

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “You’d have to ask him. Do I look like I sit on a throne and make royal demands?”

She stared at him.  _Was he being glib? Now?_  Somehow she was not shocked. “I guess not.” Pushing one more time, she tried to stand, staggering and nearly toppling over when he caught her. This time she didn’t shove him away. “Thank you.”

“No problem. You’ve been—“

“Through an ordeal. I know.” She let him heft her to her feet and accepted his water skin. First she rinsed and spit, then drank until she could feel it sloshing around in her stomach. After a few deep breaths, she turned towards the King’s camp.

“One more thing.” He reached around his neck and unfastened a cord. He laid a pendant in her hand. “We all wear these. To remind us.”

Kahrin turned her unevenly hazel eyes up at him, a frown creasing the tattoo over her eyes. When she looked down at the pendant, it shimmered eerily. It might have looked like a ruby, but when she squinted at it, it was obvious that it was filled with blood. “I don’t think I’m going to forget.”

There was a harrowed look to his face which suddenly made him look older than he was, and if she had to guess, he was younger than she was. “I know you won’t.”


	7. War Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of dickwaving going on here. Be warned. Also, Kahrin runs out of fucks to give.

Kahrin had met King Cailan before Ostagar. She’d been quite young and he not much older. Kahrin herself had been kept mostly from Court to avoid the uncomfortable necessity of turning down offers of marriage, but King Maric and his son had not been strangers to the Couslands, or to Highever. One of her fondest and earliest memories included being perched upon King Maric’s knee while he told tall tales about Grey Wardens and darkspawn, and while Cailan hung on his words and begged his father to embellish the details just a little more.

But that had been the furthest it ever went. As far as she knew, there had never been talk of potential matches with the young prince. He’d been betrothed to the Queen as long as she could remember, and it had always been presumed she herself would marry one of the Howe boys.

Why he wanted to see her now, she had no idea. 

Her mouth felt like she’d slept with a mabari’s foot in it. After chewing some root or another, she was handed a uniform. It hung loose and the plates felt heavy and awkward on her hips. She moved numbly, tightening stiff straps with tingling fingers until she blended in with the other Wardens. That was another thing. There was a tingle, a sensation that seemed to pound in her blood and sing in her mind all at once, and if she closed her eyes, the noise intensified until she could point in vague directions of her new brother and sister Wardens.

Matching in blue and grey, her leather creaking and plates scraping softly, Kahrin fell into step beside Alistair. She lengthened her stride to keep up with him, unwilling to complain over his longer legs. 

Duncan was waiting when they reached the tent. 

“Good to see you awake.”

Kahrin hardened her face. “I suppose I should be grateful I do not have a head injury.” With a pointed glare at the man towering over her, she added, “or a stab wound, I suppose.”

Duncan’s face remained impassive, but there was a sharpness to his tone that even she wasn’t too tired to miss. “I presume you will mind yourself better in front of King Cailan.”

“You presume a great deal, _Commander_.” Her eyes stayed hard for a moment before she swept into the tent uninvited.

“Loghain, my decision is final.”

Kahrin blinked into the harsh lamplight in the tent as much as she did at the King’s tone. Her eyes darted between the men assembled around her, letting them rest for only the briefest of moments on Teyrn Loghain.

“You risk too much, Cailan.” Loghain looked upon Cailan as if he were still a child, though Kahrin realised it was likely a habit. She wondered if he spoke to his daughter in a similar manner, and decided she didn’t care at the moment. “The darkspawn horde is too dangerous for you to be playing hero on the front lines.”

“If that’s the case, perhaps we should wait for the Orlesian forces, after all.”

She felt her eyes widen at the bold suggestion. It was _smart_. It was what her father would have done.

Her stomach turned at that thought, again, and she cast her eyes downward, clearing her throat. The King had demanded her presence, and she wasn’t intimidated by the Teyrn. Not considering the circumstances and who she was.

Loghain spared her little more than a glance and disagreed. Vehemently. They’d clearly come at a bad time, but Maker’s ass, there was a war going on out there that she felt in her blood, something she didn’t yet understand, and wasn’t of a mind to think on too much at the moment. She wanted to move, not stand around and listen to men bicker.

“And you will remember who is King,” Cailan ended the discussion, his eyes following Loghain’s to them. Without looking, Kahrin was aware that Alistair and Duncan were behind her. 

“Ah. Duncan! And Kahrin. I hear congratulations are in order.” His face fell a little. “Though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Cailan moved around the table and extended a hand to her. Kahrin balked at the gesture for a moment, her teeth set. The last thing she wanted was for the other Grey Wardens to know who she was.

“You will excuse me if I do not act particularly joyous, Your Majesty.”

Duncan shot her a look of warning. 

He frowned at her for the second time since they’d arrived. There was that pity in his eyes again. “And I am deeply sorry for your loss.”

Her eyes closed tightly and she let out a hard breath. For the first time it wasn’t because of the loss, it was because she knew the next words out of his mouth before he spoke them.

“And as it stands, I can not in good conscience let you fight in this battle.”

Okay, maybe she didn’t know.

“ _What_?” Her voice rose to a pitch as she let loose the King’s grip.

“Lady Cousland.” His eyes turned down at the corners. “Teyrna.”

She shook her head. “No. No, Fergus is--”

“Still unaccounted for, I am afraid.”

Loghain’s eyes nearly bored through her, as if he only just realised who she was.

It gripped her chest, and for the third time that day she felt as though she might retch. 

“Wait. Who’s a teyrna?” Alistair looked between them all, one eyebrow high on his forehead. 

Kahrin closed her eyes. This was exactly what she was worried about. “Clearly one of the other women in this tent.”

“Your Majesty, if I may?” Duncan’s interception had never been more welcomed. “We do need to ensure that the beacon atop the tower is lit.”

Cailan returned to his map, which Loghain was already occupying himself with. “Precisely. The Grey Wardens and I will draw the darkspawn into charging our lines.”

Loghain sighed heavily through his nose. “Your fascination with glory and legends will be your undoing, Cailan.”

Cailan raised a hand to Loghain. “Speak your strategy or be done here.”

Kahrin watched them nervously. There was an air of things being decided for her which unsettled her as all the men in the room bickered over flanking and beacons and Orlesians. Alistair’s hand clasped over her shoulder, nearly making her jump.

“Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t lie to you?” she breathed through her teeth. 

“I asked where you were from. You said ‘nowhere of consequence.”

“Consequence is subjective.” She pulled away, trying to drop her voice for just him. “We’re not friends, Alistair. I didn’t know you, and I do not owe you anything.”

The tent became very quiet as the others seemed to notice their argument. 

“Alistair has a unique definition of honesty, Lady Cousland. I would not take him too seriously.”

They both looked at him, their eyes wide, though Kahrin was more confused than anything else.

The King continued. “Alistair and Kahrin will do it.”

“What? I’m not to be in the battle?” Alistair’s words mirrored her own indignation. 

“Alistair,” Duncan started. “The King has given you an order.”

“But I…” Alistair’s mouth moved until a defeated look crossed his face, his shoulders slumping. “Yes, Commander.”

“It takes two Grey Wardens to light a torch?” This was unbelievable. 

“There will be no more discussion on the matter.” Duncan sliced his hand through the air. “I will see the both of you back at our camp.” He inclined his head. “Teyrn Loghain. Your Majesty.” He left the tent, which suddenly felt smaller for all the high tempers.

Only Loghain seemed cool. “I must prepare my men. Maker be with you all.”

Three of them remained, Cailan still studying the maps as Kahrin and Alistair stared, still gaping. “I do not need a nursemaid. I can do it myself.” She refused to look at Alistair as she spoke, keeping her eyes trained on Cailan’s butter blond hair. “Or let me fight with the other Wardens.”

He didn’t look up. “I could have you brought back to Denerim as a Grey Warden advisor to the Crown for your own protection.” He glanced up at the pair of them. “But that could be construed as an abuse of my power.” He righted himself. “Be grateful for my generosity. We need every available fighter.”

“And yet you would send two of us on an errand any mage could do by themselves.”

She heard Alistair suck in a breath, his hand grasping her elbow.

“My mind is made up, Lady Cousland. This is your choice.”

She inhaled in sharply then exhaled hard through her nose. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she grumbled. She made a show of a dramatically proper bow, arms crossed over her chest, before she turned on her heel and left the tent. 

She made it five steps before she grabbed a tree and emptied her stomach again.


	8. Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Purpose replaces grief.

She resented everything.

Oh, she resented life before she’d been brought to Ostagar. She resented Duncan even then for saving her wretched life, for dragging her away from her mother and leaving them to die. She resented the rain that poured on her now, trickling down her collar and giving her a chill. She resented the King for forcing her hand into running an errand rather than actually doing what her body was screaming to do.

Most of all, she resented Alistair as her ever-present guardian apparent.

About the only thing she didn’t actively resent was the way the horned helm she’d pulled out of that log in the Wilds turned her reflection into someone she didn’t recognise. Alistair had tried to talk her out of keeping it, reminding her that she didn’t know where it had been, but it fit over her hair, and the horns were something she’d never have been allowed to wear. Now, looking at the face blinking through the eye slits at her from the puddle at her feet, she decided that was who she would be now. It felt right, if anything could right now. 

She didn’t know how, but she knew the darkspawn were out there. She knew the approximate direction to move in order to find them, though it was more a loud buzzing than a clear direction. She knew she was strong enough to kill them, she just needed the chance.

The buzz lingered faintly in front of her, too. As Kahrin looked up at the tower while crossing the bridge — as they darted from point to point to avoid the shots of trebuchets blowing huge chunks out of the bridge — she resented herself for not running. Duncan would likely have had her hunted down and put to the blade if she tried, but Fergus was out there somewhere, possibly among the incoming horde.

Alistair wasn’t interested in hiding his displeasure either.

“I do not need a nursemaid,” she repeated to him as they gained the rise of the hill where the tower stood. “If you despise minding me so much—“

“We have a job to do. King’s orders, you know.”

“Yeah. About that…” She worked her mouth to find the way to ask about the little pissing match she’d seen without being too nosy. Her thoughts were cut off by first a glaring humming in her mind, followed by the screaming of a man which was almost drowned out by the former. 

She staggered, the intensity of the sound in her head making her dizzy. Alistair gripped her elbow, steadying her. “Easy. There’s—“

“Darkspawn,” she gasped through the pain. Even as it hurt, it felt  _alive_. Connected. She spit the last of the bile she’d choked up. “I know. I’m ready.” Her chest pulled tight as she tried to pull a breath. There was poison in her veins that she could feel herself fighting, and screeching in her head, but she could do this. “When it’s over, you have to explain all of this to me.” She gripped his arm until she could stand.

“I promise. I will teach you everything I can.”

Her vision returned to normal, perhaps a keener, and she looked at him, hard, for a moment. She was running out of friendly faces. “I don’t like you. But… thank you.”

He nodded, his mouth twisted wryly. “You’re welcome. I think.”

The inside of the tower was nothing she’d expected. It was covered in filth and stank worse than a neglected kennel. Her swords were in her hands before the cleared the threshold. She’d been so anxious to run into a fight and prove herself that she hadn’t considered the reality. It wasn’t like the Wilds. It wasn’t sparse groups of darkspawn, it looked like purposeful groups of them.

“There weren’t supposed to be any darkspawn here,” Alistair murmured as they pulled their blades from another corpse.

“You could try pointing that out to them.” She felt a smile twitch the corner of her mouth. 

He chuckled, shaking his head enough to dislodge sweat from his brow. “I might. They are horribly opposed to admitting they are wrong, though.”

The mage who had alerted them outside the tower — Alim, he’d hastily introduced himself — kicked one of the corpses. “Should we burn them?”

Alistair shook his head and tugged at his own ear. “Believe me, you do not want to smell that. Besides,” he gestured ahead of him. “There’s more up ahead.”

The man looked at them as if he didn’t believe it. Almost on cue, one of doors knocked in, leading in a group of five followers, their faces twisted and withered into death-smiles. “You’re going to have to tell me how you do that?”

Shifting her grip, Kahrin actually smiled.

Now she understood. Back in the Wilds she hadn’t. It was instinct. It was a primal pull. If she stopped fighting it, her limbs just moved. Her blood itched until she let go, and then it  _sang_. Her thrusts were faster, her parries almost preternaturally quick and effective, and she didn’t even feel winded after they’d shoved through three floors of the monsters. The fatigue and illness she’d felt just a couple of hours ago was replace by adrenaline and power. Everything about her knew how to fight them, knew how to win.

She had not, however, expected the top floor. Alistair kicked in the door, a wall of flames between them and the chamber with the signal beacon. She grabbed the sides of her helm by the horns as she turned away from the heat, everything wavering in front of her.

The floor beneath them shook, and she might have thought it an earthquake had the roaring not drawn her eyes back across the room. It was horrible, twice again as tall as any man she’d ever seen, covered in saliva and filth. It stomped purposefully. Stones fell away from the remains of the walls where the window frames had long-since degraded. 

“Ogre,” Alistair whispered harshly. “Have care and stay behind—“

She drew a breath, ran, and jumped through the flames, tucking her head and turning her swords away from herself as she did.

“Dammit!” she heard him shout behind her before she felt a chill prickling at her skin which could only be magic trying to stop the fire so they could follow her. She didn’t look back, letting instinct pull her heedlessly.

The floor iced beneath her feet, ruining her traction and sliding her further towards the ogre than she wanted to be. Throwing her weight back, she fell to her rear and slid under and between its legs easily, rolling to her feet on the other side.

By the time she was on her feet, Alistair had caught up, crouching and holding his shield up as the ogre swung at him. His shoulder jarred, absorbing a good deal of the blow before he knocked back. 

The room chilled sharply again, slowing her motions. She’d never fought alongside mages, and only received healing magic one time when she’d been very young. The way the magic shifted the air pricked at her skin and made the fine hairs stand up as she pushed hard to reach the ogre which was now focused on him. 

Despite being an elf, Alim stood well above her. Kahrin darted between him and the beast closing in on him, shoving him back with a palm to his chest before she lunged forward. Turning her blades outward, she shoved them hard through the skin of the ogre. It roared, making her ears ring. It swung an arm out, knocking both herself and Alim aside as if they were made of parchment before rearing back, scraping a foot across the ground, ready to charge.

“The beacon. Light the beacon! Go!” She shrieked, pushing him to his feet to get him out of the way. She slipped on the floor again, her knee smacking the stone and sending a jolt through her whole leg. She tucked her head for impact.

The ogre fell forward to the floor with a screech so horrible it tugged tears to her eyes. She looked up, Alistair behind it, black blood slicking his sword and splattered across him from where he’d cut the tendons behind the creature’s knees. Without another thought, she scrabbled forward, driving both blades through its neck, feeling it jerk violently, gurgle, then slack.

The beacon leapt to life, the blaze above their heads lighting the whole remains of the room. 

Kahrin fell forward across the still hot corpse, her whole body shaking. 

“You can’t do that. You can not just charge ahead like that.” Alistair’s voice was mercifully gentle as he laid a hand on her shoulder. “We work as a team. But… you did well.”

The flames, the unexpected attack, barely getting someone else to safety. It slammed memories into her mind, making her tremble as she pressed a hand against her mouth to suppress a choked sob. Kahrin shook her head. “No. No it wasn’t enough.”

His face pulled down, his eyes softening at the corners. “You’ve been through—“

She shook her head as she yanked her swords free. “Don’t. Just don’t. Not right now.” She turned her head towards Alim on the other side of the room and out of earshot, brushing at the sleeves of his mage robes. Her eyes turned back up towards Alistair. “Not right now. Later. I promise. Later.”

To his credit, he didn’t push. He nodded once and offered her a hand up. “We’re finished here anyhow. We should try to get back to—“

His eyes widened at the exact moment the buzzing in her mind stopped any other thoughts. No matter how she shook, no matter how the memories wanted her to stop, she pushed to her feet anyhow, swords stance ready. 

“Cover him,” Alistair bellowed. His shield arm pushed at her in the mage’s direction. She didn’t argue this time. A swarm of darkspawn spilled through the door, more than any one group they’d seen yet. Two fanned away from the others almost immediately, raising crossbows.

“Get down!” Alim glanced at her as she sprinted towards him and obeyed. It might have been comical in any other situation, her flinging herself bodily over him, to block the shots from hitting him.

The first bolt hit her through the shoulder, just below her collarbone. It didn’t sting so much as burn. The second sprung out through her middle, making her jolt and choke. With a grunt, she lifted both blades, catching an axe that came down at the pair of them and jerked it away before she thrust her left sword into the looming monster. 

Two more bolts erupted from her. The floor flew at her head, bouncing off the back of her helm, making her vision split in half first, then black over.

_I’m sorry. I tried_.

 


	9. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Kahrin and Alistair could stop bickering long enough to do anything, they might have shaved four months off of the Blight.

It felt like she was falling. She hovered enough near consciousness that she was aware that she was moving. Then not. She skimmed so close to wakefulness that she couldn’t dream, but she couldn’t open her eyes, either.

Kahrin didn’t know how long she’d been out. Sound seeped in eventually, invading her darkness, tugging at her mind.

There was… something she needed to be doing. Slowly aches returned to her, and she itched. Not her skin. Deep in her blood, she felt like she needed to be moving. 

The smells came next. Strong, like the balm her nan used to rub on her chest as a girl or the salve she slathered on scraped knees and elbows. Her fingers twitched under a thick fur. 

“Try not to move too quickly.” The voice that pulled at her was familiar, but not. She blinked her eyes open, the dim light easy enough to not make her flinch. “You are awake. Mother will be pleased.” 

Golden eyes watched met hers. Nearly swirling, no light reflecting off of them.

“I don’t… where…”

“Take your time. You have been through an ordeal.”

That was beginning to not even sound like a word anymore.

“The darkspawn.”

“Overwhelmed you in the tower.”

Kahrin swallowed. “But… the King.”

The woman looked at her for a long time, no obvious emotion on her face before she drifted on frail-looking limbs back to the pots boiling over the fire. “Your King is dead. The man who was supposed to help quit the field. Did I miss anything?”

Kahrin breathed out hard. Dead? It was too much, too soon. “Your name?”

“Morrigan.”

“How did I get out of the tower.”

“Mother turned into a bird and plucked you from the top in her talons.”

She nodded. That made about as much sense as anything else that had happened to her in the last few weeks. If she didn’t want to tell her the truth, Kahrin wasn’t in a place to argue. “Am I going to be okay?”

Morrigan seemed to consider this for a few moments. “Your injuries were severe. It was a close call for you, but yes. T’would seem you are healing nicely.”

That much she could deal with. “Thank you, Morrigan.” 

Her manners still seemed to disarm her. She folded and unfolded her fingers. “Mother did most of it. Are you thirsty?”

Maker she was. She nodded again and pushed to leaning on her elbows. The room spun, forcing her eyes closed again. There were thick bandages bound tightly around her chest, and she still wore smalls, but beyond that, she was naked. “What about the others?”

“All dead.”

Her breath sucked in sharply. “All of them?”

“I am afraid so.”

“Even Alistair? Alim?”

Morrigan punctured a thin layer of ice from a basin with an ewer and ladled her a cup of water. She returned to the bedside and offered it to Kahrin. “You mean the particularly dim fellow? He is safe as well. The other name I do not know.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth and choked back a soft cry. This was still not the time to break down, and certainly not in front of a stranger. “Good.”

“He is not taking things particularly well since he awakened, I am afraid.”

Kahrin looked at her, trying to comprehend her words versus her tone. “He just lost everyone he knows,” she murmured in disbelief. Maker take her. What if he had died too? She would have been alone. Or worse. They were it. They were all that was left. She flopped back onto the pillow.

“Would they approve of his falling apart? How is that useful to their cause?”

Kahrin didn’t have any words for her. She blinked through watery vision at the smoke-stained ceiling of the little hut.

“He has been beside himself with worry over you, however. He became quite agitated when Mother would not let him see you.”

Kahrin swallowed. “The horde?”

Morrigan spoke softly, but did not soften the news. “They overtook the field. They have taken most of Ostagar and the Wilds, I am afraid.”

Kahrin kicked her legs back and forth a few times beneath the furs to relieve the burning in her veins. “We have to… I don’t know.”

“You need to feel better first. Then worry about what it is that can be done.”

She couldn’t stay here. These were witches. Apostates who had unsettled Alistair so much that he refused to talk about it. The darkspawn were loose on Ferelden and her brother was possibly dead.  _He is still alive_ , she scolded herself. A sharp pain lanced through her middle, making her curl into it.

“I will make you a tea that should ease the pain and help you sleep a little longer.”

“I can’t sleep right now. I need to… I need to…”  _Move. Run. Anything._  She was close enough to Gwaren. Or even the uncharted southern Wilds. She had to find her brother, and they had to get out of Ferelden. 

“You will not get very far if your injuries open again or you get an infection. Though, you have healed well so far. I suspect that is an effect of whatever magic made you a Grey Warden.”

She didn’t want to admit the logic in Morrigan’s words. She set her jaw, firmly, then nodded. “Fine. Just a little more rest.”

“You have good reason.” Morrigan came back with a strong smelling valerian tea and helped her sip some of it. “It will serve you well. Now. Rest. I will be here when you wake.”

Even without the tea, it wouldn’t have taken long for her to drift off again.

 

#

 

She jolted awake, sweating and shaking. The silence in the hut contrasted sharply with the screaming that had been in her dream. Her sides protested violently as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and began looking for her clothes.

“You appear to be feeling better.” Morrigan watched her from the corner where she was minding a pot and reading from a thick tome.

“I can’t stay here. I have to… I have to go… somewhere.” She yanked her trousers on, both legs at once, and laced them. “There’s darkspawn out there and… I just have to go.” She found her tunic and pulled it over her head, swimming in it even after she found the sleeves. 

“Perhaps you should speak with Mother, first.” She set her book down, then stood. “Or another draught of tea.”

Kahrin looked at her hard. “Am I a prisoner?”

Humor crossed Morrigan’s full mouth. “Not at all. What would be the use?”

“I don’t know. I don’t. Know. Why… why am I alive? Why not the King or Duncan?”

Morrigan merely shrugged, raising Kahrin’s hackles. “I can not claim to know the purpose behind Mother’s impulses. T’would seem more prudent to have saved someone of more import.”

“For a ransom?”

Now she laughed. “We have no need of your baubles. If you wish more answers, you will need to ask Mother.”

She set her jaw. “I will.”

“Splendid. I will continue to make dinner.”

Kahrin pulled and tucked the strap of her belt, the weight of her hip plates pulling uncomfortably at joints which hadn’t moved in who knew how long. She inhaled deeply, then let it out audibly, and strode out the door.

The sunlight assaulted her eyes, making her nearly shrink back into the hut. Her fingers gripped the door as she clenched her eyes against the green flashes to adjust.

“Ah, see? There she is.” Flemeth rocked in a chair, a sock in her hand. Kahrin blinked at her, her attention focused on darning a sock as if she were little more than an unassuming old woman. There was something unsettling about her quiet, and Kahrin felt like even the trees were watching them. The whole picture made her shudder. “I told you you worry too much. You always doubt me, boy.”

Kahrin turned towards a small, stagnant, pond surrounded by reeds and cattails. The way the sun shone over the swamp meant she’d missed Alistair standing right there. 

His face was puffy, red rimmed eyes easing at the corners when they settled on her, sun glinting off the wayward spikes of his hair. He let out a long sigh. “You’re… you’re okay.” It was more like he was trying to convince himself than state the obvious.

And then, suddenly, they were just two. The gravity of that settled on her heavily, hunching her shoulders, even as she forced herself to attempt a smile. “Afraid I was going to leave you all alone?”

“Don’t even joke. I was so worried. The rest of them… they’re all…” He pressed his hand to his mouth and turned around, choking off a strangled sound. “You’re all I have left.”

Her eyes widened in horror. She was already all Fergus had left. He still didn’t know about his wife and son. She couldn’t be all this person, this man she didn’t even like that much, had left also.

“You two have your work cut out for you. A tall task for even a legion of Grey Wardens.”

She stared at the old woman for a moment, her mouth searching for words. The tattoo shot high on her brow. “Alistair’s the Grey Warden here. Not me.” She had to find Fergus. Darkspawn, Rendon Howe looking for them, no King to protect them…

“Don’t you dare leave me right now.” Alistair’s voice caught and faltered. “I can’t do this alone.”

“Do what? What are we going to do? Stop a horde of darkspawn and end a Blight, just the two of us?” Frantic laughter bubbled up behind her fingers. She caught his eyes, recognising the misery in them. That raw pain of loss so deep he couldn’t fathom it yet sobered her. Maker  _take_  her. “Come with me. We’ll find my brother and we’ll… go to Antiva.”

Flemeth made a considering sound, but didn’t speak.

“I can’t leave, Kahrin! There’s a Blight!”

“What are you going to do against a Blight? All by yourself?”

“If you come with me I won’t be by myself, but I can’t walk away from this. It’s my duty.”

She snorted. “Duty?” She gestured in a vague direction with a hand slicing through the air. “Do you see what duty does to everyone else? How do you even end a Blight?”

He raked hands through his haphazard hair. “You kill an archdemon.”

She threw both of her arms up. “Oh is that all? Do you know how to do that?”

He threw his hands out to the sides and faced her, his voice rising to a pitch. “No! But I… we have to try.”

“You’re going to wind up dead like the others,” she spat. 

“If only you had reinforcements.”

Kahrin and Alistair both looked at Flemeth. 

“I mean, sure. You could go out and try on your own.” She laughed. “But if you had an army. That would be something. Oh well.” She pulled the thread until her arm was straight and gathered another stitch.

“The treaties.” Alistair’s murmur was almost lost among the sound of warblers in the swamp around them. 

Kahrin looked at him. “What?”

“We have the treaties. From the dwarves and the Dalish and the Circle. They have to help us.”

Kahrin blinked at him. He was not suggesting that two of them could run to the far flung reaches of Ferelden and beg for help against a Blight no one thought was real, was he?

“Elves. Dwarves. Mages.” Flemeth quirked an eyebrow and looked up. “Now, I am a very old woman and do not know many things, but that sounds like an army to me.”

“This is the talk of mad people.” Kahrin shook her head. Where would we even begin? We’d need provision, and it’s winter.”

“Redcliffe,” he mumbled. “Eamon wasn’t at Ostagar. He still has his troops.”

She could feel her eyebrows furrow as her mouth fell open. “You mean the Arl of Redcliffe?”

He nodded. “The very same. I… I know him. He’s a good man. And Cailan was his nephew. He will help us if I ask.” His face darkened. “And he needs to know of Teyrn Loghain’s betrayal.” His eyes met hers. “We are the only ones who know what happened there. Who knows what stories he will make up?”

What Loghain’s part had been in all of it hadn’t even occurred to her. Kahrin raked her hands through her hair, making a frustrated sound as she stamped her foot. She hadn’t done that in a good number of years, and it felt wonderfully childish in that moment. “I can’t.  _We_  can’t.” She clenched her eyes, her head dropping in defeat. “But we have to.”

Alistair stood up a little straighter. “Does that mean you’re with me?”

“I am going to regret this.” Her eyes searched his as she shook from the weight of all of it. She was already exhausted to her bones, and they were, apparently, just getting started. “But yes. Void take me, I’m with you.”

He crossed the space between them and hugged his arms around her, lifting her clean from the ground as she squeaked. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Flemeth smiled.


	10. Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now they have a dog.

No one spoke much when they left the swamp. Alistair was clearly still grieving — something she envied him — and Morrigan was still angry over being forced to come with them. Kahrin didn’t know enough mages to know if Morrigan’s foul mood was something she needed to worry about, but just in case it was, she gave her space.

If Flemeth had intended for Morrigan to come with them all along, Kahrin could only guess. It was clear that Morrigan hadn’t been in on the plan. In the end, after a thorough argument between she and Alistair, they agreed that Morrigan would be an asset. Agreeing meant that Kahrin badgered him until he gave in, and she didn’t feel bad about that, since he’d badgered her into helping him. If two was better than one, three was better than two.

Besides, there were obvious advantages to having a mage in their ranks, apostate or otherwise. In all honesty Kahrin had very little understanding of the world of magic, beyond healing and the Circle being where they were schooled. Like most things, it was likely more complex than that, though Alistair’s chantry teachings were of little help. Even if he were of a mind to share them. 

The barely dot on a map which was their first destination stood barely outside the Wilds. They had enough supplies, thanks to Flemeth, to make it at least that far, and hopefully there would be trade there. If the horde hadn’t run unchecked. 

The odd buzzing in her head pulled in every direction at once. It pulled hard in Alistair’s direction, and while she didn’t understand it fully, she accepted it was a thing she needed to get used to. In addition to feeling as though she was burning up from fever, the sound calmed a little when she was closer to him. She didn’t have an overwhelming urge to be that close to him, but it made it quiet enough to think. In lieu of words, they exchanged glances, some of them pained, and others almost sympathetic.

“Do you want to stop to eat?” she asked him in a hushed voice. Her stomach felt like it was turning itself inside out with hunger. She’d never been shy about eating like some of the other women she’d met in her peerage, but she’d also never been this hungry.

“Oh, Maker. You’re right. You must be half-starved.” Alistair looked at her with a frown and shrugged a sort of apology. “I know I am. I can’t imagine what it must be like for you.”

She blinked. 

He sighed. “You haven’t had time to understand yet. Your body burns hotter, more energy. That’s the Taint in you. It’s fighting your own blood, and that can be…”

“Exhausting.” She understood that much. It wasn’t that she was tired, but she could feel it. Feel the conflict in herself.

Alistair nodded. “Maker. I’m sorry. I guess I haven’t been very welcoming to you.”

She shrugged. “I haven’t tried. In the extensive time we’ve known one another and all.” Silence fell between them again as they watched one another’s eyes, then Kahrin looked away. They shared a thing. That didn’t make them friends. Turning her head over her shoulder she called back to Morrigan. “Do you want to stop to eat?”

“So long as I do not have to cook.”

They hadn’t really talked about that. Kahrin worked her mouth a little, struggling for words. “I… I don’t know… how.”

Both Morrigan and Alistair lifted eyebrows at her.

She raised her arms a little helplessly. “I never needed to know how.” She tried not to look sheepish. She wasn’t embarrassed, or she hadn’t been. It hadn’t been necessary. 

“I’ll do it.” Alistair answered simply. “I don’t mind cooking. I actually kind of like it.”

Relief washed over her. She’d likely have to learn, but not this minute. “Great.”

Since there was no objection from Morrigan, they settled in a little copse of trees on the side of the road, hopefully out of sight but not so far that they couldn’t see through the trees. They kept the fire as small as they possibly could. Even a little bit of smoke would give away their location.

It was barking which first alarmed them. Kahrin was already rising to her feet, hands on her swords, when the mabari ran into view. He bounded up to them, tail stub flapping back and forth, then barked low before running off down the road again.

That was something Spunky used to do. He’d play that game of to and fro, before finally tugging at her shirt or dress until she agreed to follow him. Very rarely did he resort to open growling and barking for alert. He communicated. That’s how it had been the night Howe’s guards had attacked, and that was why he’d been the one at the door when it burst open, and why he’d died and she’d lived.

All of that went through her head in a heartbeat, and in the next, the buzzing took over her whole head, feeling as if it were going to push out through her skull. Alistair was on his feet and behind her before she made it to the road, ignoring his shouts for her to hold back and wait for him. 

It was just a small group. Stragglers, Alistair would tell her when they were finished. They didn’t need to find their momentum, it was there. They knew how to move around one another, sometimes passing within just inches of the other as blades reached and shields basked. 

Unlike the mage they’d fought by in Ostagar, Morrigan didn’t seem to hold back. Something flashed behind her eyes as charges built first on her fingers, then soared past them both. Her frame looked too-thin, her arms small and lacking much definition of muscle, but before she even pulled her staff, Morrigan drew her fingers up in the air, as if pulling from the ground, wisps of power in dark swirls building around her. The darkspawn that advanced on her slowed in what could only be described as confusion, making it easier for Kahrin to gain one and cut it down. 

Morrigan wasn’t the only mage, a reality which crashed into Kahrin as a bolt of magic, knocking her back and down. Far down the road, it’s face twisted and lips parting from it’s teeth, the shorter darkspawn gathered and launched another dark bolt. Sluggishly, she gained her feet as Alistair passed her, his head hanging for a moment over his sword before he pushed his arms out, sending the magic-user sprawling back into the brush with a bright flash of light and a rumble that felt like a noiseless clap of thunder. Pine needles fell from the trees as the dust settled.

Kahrin wiped her blades as they closed in on the last darkspawn, which was under the four large paws of the mabari who was gnawing at it’s throat. Alistair sucked in a breath, wincing at the sight. “Oh, Maker. Don’t… no don’t eat that. That is not going to agree with you.”

Kahrin frowned. “Is he going to be okay?” She tried to urge the hound away from the now mutilated corpse, remembering how Spunky used to get when she tried to pull him away from a kill. She pulled on his harness, making a low sound. 

“I really don’t know. I haven’t had a mabari before. And I certainly never saw one eat… that.” He made a slight sound of disgust.

She squatted next to the dog, looking him over. The markings of his kaddis were familiar. She scratched him behind the scruff and looked him over. If he was sick, she wouldn’t know. She was no kennel master. The muscles of his throat and chest started to spasm, a gravelly sound coming from his throat. She backed away in time to avoid him hacking up remains on her, mostly, but not in time for it to not churn her stomach. She covered her mouth with a hand and swallowed hard.

The dog, for her part, turned and began sniffing around the other two. Morrigan stepped back away from the hound, her arms crossed as she seemed to barely tolerate her sniffing. “Go on. Go find your… person.” She flicked her fingers towards her.

She sniffled a circle around Alistair, stopping to hack a few times before continuing her circuit. He knelt down next to her, scratching her scruff. “Oh, look who’s a vicious darkspawn killer. Hey if you live through that you’ll be be handy to have around!”

“Surely you are not considering keeping that mangy thing.” Morrigan sniffed in their direction. “Though the smell of the camp would improve.”

Alistair glared at her, wrapping an arm around the dog’s neck. “She’s not mangy.” 

“So you would say.”

Kahrin shot her a look, which was met with an icy one in return. Alistair hadn’t smiled since they’d left the swamp, and he was grinning now at the dog as she laid her paws over his shoulder. She barked approvingly at him, nearly knocking him over backward as he tail beat back and forth. Kahrin knew just enough to know that they weren’t getting rid of this dog. 

“What are you going to call her?” She squatted near them, running a wrapped hand over the stocky muscles of the hound.

“What do you mean?” He looked up just long enough to lift a questioning eyebrow.

“I mean I think she’s picked you. I don’t know what happened to her last master, but I am going to guess you’re her new one.”

He chuckled as if he didn’t believe her. “I don’t know about that. I’m no one special.”

“I don’t think that matters.”

Alistair gave the dog a very serious look. “How about Barkspawn?”

“It is good to see you are taking this seriously, Alistair,” Morrigan mused, with a hint of obvious mockery in her voice.

“Shut up.” He didn’t bother looking at her. “I think it’s fitting. Don’t you?” He looked right at Kahrin, his smile still half-crooked. 

Maker. That was a ridiculous name. When she’d named Spunky she’d been really young and had clung to it because she thought it was a good thing when people used it to describe her. The thought of disappointing him when he was doing something other than sulking twisted her gut. So she smiled. “I think it’s a fine name.” Andraste strike her for lying.

“See?” he said as if Kahrin’s word was some sort of authoritative voice on the matter. He looked at the dog. “What do you think?”

She barked, low and loud, nodding as she did, then pushing harder against him and licking his face. Kahrin winced. There was no way her breath was any good after what she’d had for lunch.

“I think that’s a majority vote.” She pushed up off the ground and started walking back towards the campsite. “And, now we don’t have to worry about leftovers. Apparently she’ll eat anything.” Barkspawn seemed no worse off for having gutted a darkspawn with her teeth. 

“Well, let’s hope that keeps up through the night.” He got up and patted his leg, the dog spinning around in circles, woofing low in approval. He strode back to the cooking pot. 

Kahrin glanced back just in time to see Morrigan giving Barkspawn a quick pat. When she caught Kahrin watching, she pulled her hand away and crossed her arms again. “I was just seeing if the thing had acquired any aggression from the darkspawn blood.”

Kahrin laughed and turned back towards the camp.


	11. Centrifuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions are running high. A little graphic at the end.

“It wasn’t that bad.” Alistair still sounded hurt a whole day later.

Kahrin hugged one arm around the tree, too busy retching — which had become her new hobby since they’d stopped roadside the day before — until she was sure her stomach was turning inside out. “That was not lamb and pea stew.”

“I swear to you that’s how we made it with the templars.”

She wiped a hand over the back of her mouth. “No wonder templars are always cranky.”

“Hey!”

She rinsed her mouth with a swig from her waterskin, then spit. Again. She was going to have to learn to cook in self-defense. Her stomach couldn’t handle another night of Alistair’s stew, especially if they were going to be ambushed by highwaymen like they had been just minutes ago. Stew was not supposed to be  _grey_. “You haven’t exactly been a shining example to the contrary, you know.”

His eyes tightened, making her wince. 

“Sorry,” she muttered. 

“Tis true enough.” Kahrin had almost forgotten Morrigan was there. She’d kept her quiet for most of the day’s travel. She offered Kahrin some elfroot to chew on without flourish. “He has been on the verge of throwing himself upon his sword since we left.”

Alistair’s face hardened, standing up from where he’d been letting Barkspawn — who seemed no worse for her diet of darkspawn — gnaw at his vambrace while he tried to clean his sword. “Excuse me for not being cheerful.”

“You have been sort of quiet, Alistair.” Kahrin frowned at him. Not that she’d known him very long, but she knew him long enough to know that this quiet moping was not him.

“I’ve just… been with my thoughts.”

“They must be lonely.” Morrigan seemed able to get her barbs in exactly where she wanted them to sink, and didn’t complain when Barkspawn circled her, only stepped around her nimbly.

“Could you not do this right now?” He sheathed his sword and scrubbed both hands over his face, up through his hair. “How terrible of me to care about all those people who died. They were my family.”

“And what credit do you do them with all the sniveling and carrying on?”

“Morrigan, please.” The elfroot was too bitter, and it turned her stomach fresh, so she spit it out. 

“I don’t need you to defend me,” he snapped at Kahrin. “I mean how would you feel if it was your family?” 

“Before or after I stopped laughing?” Morrigan asked back.

Kahrin stared at him, stunned. Her mouth worked for a few moments, and then she pressed her lips firmly together.

Alistair raised an eyebrow at Morrigan. “Right. Creepy. Can we just go?” 

“Let’s just go,” Kahrin muttered.

He watched her walk for a few moments before she heard him swear. “Kahrin, wait.” The scraping of his plate crept up on her as he jogged closer. “Maker. What an ass I am.”

Kahrin shook her head. “No, it’s fine. We’re not friends. You don’t know me. I lied to you, remember?”

He sighed. “That’s not true. Well I mean, that last part.” He tripped over something she couldn’t see with a glance over her shoulder. 

“It doesn’t matter.” She looked up the small road leading into Lothering. Save a single templar near what passed for a gate, there didn’t seem to be much in the way of any guard. She didn’t bother waiting for the rest of them, marching up to pass the man with his visor drawn down. 

His voice boomed from inside the helm. “If you’re looking for lodging, I suggest you turn back.” 

Kahrin lifted both eyebrows, stopping with her weight uneven on her front foot. “Are you denying us entry to the town?” She caught her balance and righted herself, crossing her arms and drawing herself up to full height as if she’d done that intentionally.

He peered down at her through the slit in his visor, eyes barely shining out of the dark. “No.” The little bit she could see flicked to the plate on her chest. “Though I suggest you make your visit brief. We want no trouble here.”

Her brow furrowed as she turned to meet Alistair’s face. “We only came for supplies.”

“We don’t have any. I think you should move on.”

She frowned, but nodded. “In and out as quickly as we can, ser. Also, as soon as we can report the bandits on the road—“ 

The templar made a frustrated sound, shaking his greave off from apparently where Barkspawn had relieved herself. “We have been stretched thin as it is. We are aware—“ 

“I know.” She gritted his teeth at being interrupted. “We took care of them. The ones who were still conscious are tied up over there.” She gestured in the direction of the road. They’d managed to get them fastened to one of the trees. “Gift wrapped and everything. Now, can we come in and trade?”

His eyes narrowed inside his helm. “I suppose we owe you that much.” He gestured with his hand. “I suggest you begin at the tavern.”

Kahrin nodded and walked past him with no further comment. The village was, indeed, brimming with refugees. There was a literal tent city in what looked to have once been a field for planting. “Don’t they know the horde is heading this way?” she asked Alistair in a low whisper. Even with as erratic as her control on that bizarre new sense was, she could tell. It itched in her veins and sang in her mind that they were heading the absolute wrong way. 

“Where would they go?” he murmured back. His face was pained as he took in the scene, but Kahrin looked at him, confused. 

“Anywhere else.”

He frowned a little. “They have nothing. No money. Even if they had somewhere to go, they might die getting there.”

Kahrin frowned up at him, a little defiant. “That’s ridiculous. So they’ll just lie down and die here?”

“You don’t really get it, do you?” He raised an eyebrow. “Either here or when they run out of food later. It’s not so easy when you don’t have resources.”

“I suppose.” She mulled that over as they approached what could only be the tavern. She hadn’t considered it before, though she should have. It wasn’t like she was living comfy with money to take care of all of her needs now.

He snorted but didn’t say anything else. When they reached the tavern, he held the door open for her and made a little flourish with his arm, gesturing for her to go inside. 

Taverns had a feel to them. Almost a culture of their own. Kahrin had liked going to them late at night with Fergus, just to drink in the way people were when their every action wasn’t scripted by upbringing and expectation. There was sometimes a language being used which could only be read by people who frequently lived in it. This was not happening here. There was no merriment. People clutched to their tankards and slouched towards one another in corners. There was only fear and defeat here, heavy in the air and almost as suffocating as the scent of body odor heated by the fire.

She didn’t have to think on it long, however. 

“Say. Didn’t we ask around ‘bout a pair matching their description just today?” It took a moment for Kahrin to realise the men in Gwaren livery were referring to her and Alistair. “Two wardens, a big blond one and a wee little thing with her face branded up. Hard to hide that one, princess.”

“Wardens killed the king and these two helped.”

“ _What_?” Alistair’s voice rose to that tight, squealy, pitch Kahrin had come to interpret as indignation. “The Wardens did no such thing! It was the Teyrn.”

“Not now, Alistair.” Kahrin felt him move forward and put her arm out as if she could stop him from barreling past her. “This isn’t the appropriate place,” she said louder to the guards in front of her.

“We’ve orders to bring you in. They were not specific as to how.” The taller of the two with the cruciform of greatsword over his shoulder sneered down at her, as if he was completely confident that she’d be easy to take down. His slightly shorter companion had a bow. Between the two of them they had enough arrogance for a whole army. 

Alistair buckled forward and she moved bodily in front of him again. “And who’s going to take us in? You?” She felt big, arms crossed and staring at the man under his helm.

“You will mind your mouth, churl.”

Now it was her turn to press her lips together and lurch forward.

“Gentlemen.” The sister materialized from the crowd as if she had always been there. “I think this is all a misunderstanding.”

“Stand aside, Sister.” The goon with the bow almost pushed her as he tried to close the space between himself and Kahrin, who was trying to keep herself between Alistair and the soldiers who were pissing him off royally.

“Don’t touch her,” Alistair already had his shield on his arm. The overly-full tavern was feeling more crowded by the moment as people pushed away towards the walls, giving them all a berth.

“We can solve this without violence,” the sister said sweetly through a wide smile, her big blue eyes almost vapid. Almost. She looked up at Alistair, her voice gentle. “But I appreciate your concern.”

“If you get in the way of our bringing these traitors to justice, sister, you cast your lot in with theirs.” He grabbed her arm. “They betrayed the king and their own order.”

“We did no such thing!” He shoved past Kahrin, plowing his shield against the man holding the sister’s arm. His weight and momentum carried them both back until he had the man pinned against the bar counter.

That’s when Kahrin noticed two more of them behind her, blocking the door. Great. Everything silenced in her ears as she drew her swords, blocking a single sword with both of her blades as it was brought down at her. The swing was clumsy, like he was chopping wood with the damned thing. It was solid and abrupt and nearly bore her to the floor as she staggered back to absorb the impact, jarring her shoulders. She pushed back hard, hooking a foot behind one of his and knocking him off balance. A slight upset was enough to let the armour do the rest, and he clattered to the floor. 

She didn’t need to be bigger. Just faster. Which she was. She brought a pommel down on the side of his head and moved on.

Something bitter prickled at her tongue, and the other man who advanced on her slowed slightly. Her eyes flicked towards Morrigan, who had been quiet and deep in her cloak all this time, to see her lips moving silently, a glow flashing across her eyes and fingers as dark wisps formed over her hand. This time the sword that swung at her missed completely. Without hesitation, Kahrin reared back and threw her shoulder into his middle, taking them both to the ground. She pinned his arms with her legs and pressed the flat of one blade over his neck, a small thread of blood trickling where it made contact with his skin. He thrashed and nearly threw her aside, but her armour let her move while his worked against him. Morrigan slid closer, pressing a palm to the man’s forehead. He shuddered once and slacked beneath Kahrin.

“Thanks,” she panted as she got to her feet, only to see the chantry sister had disarmed the archer, and was strangling him with the string while he tried, fruitlessly, to throw her off. Clearly the templars were not the only ones receiving combat training from the chantry.

But the sister was not the chantry-trained fighter concerning her at the moment. The sounds of the room returned to her as her focus widened. Seconds or minutes, who knew, but Alistair hadn’t moved from his position. The man he pinned from the bar was no longer putting up a struggle as he brought his shield down upon the man again, and again. “Loghain… betrayed… us all!” Another smash of shield and something cracked which was not wood. “They’re all dead. Because of him!” His voice strained and the shield met it’s target again, then it choked over his words into a sob. Barkspawn tugged at a leather strap on his armour, half-growling, half-whining.  

Kahrin threw herself against him, wrapping her arms around his shield arm and dropping her weight to pull on him as cries of the onlookers grew louder. “Alistair stop. Stop. He’s gone.” He was more than gone. Kahrin felt her empty stomach start to churn again when she tried not to look at what she was certain was the remains of the man who had threatened them. The crowd was starting to close in on them more, any moment at least one templar would be there, and she growled through her teeth. “We have to go. Come on.” Numbly, he let her pull him, dropping his shield to the floor as Kahrin urged him along.

“Behind the chantry. I will meet you there,” the sister said, throwing a cloak over Alistair as they pushed through the crowd and out the door. Their stay in Lothering would be shorter than she’d planned. With Morrigan’s help, they made it to the trees behind the chantry, practically dragging Alistair along before she retched again.


	12. Truths

The dark rising spire of Kinloch Hold could be seen for leagues on any side of it, but Kahrin knew very few people who had actually been there. The top was almost invisible through the dense fog, and standing on the gentle downward slope of grass leading towards the docks, Kahrin felt incredibly small. Odd, she'd been small her whole life, but only just now did she feel it.

 

Boots and greaves made soft smooshing noises on the damp grass as they stepped cautiously towards the dock. Apart from that the only audible sounds were the soft scraping of she and Alistair's plates and the gentle creaking of Morrigan and Leliana's leather.

 

“It's so quiet,” Kahrin said softly. She had no way of knowing one way or the other if this was unusual, but there weren't even animals or birds making any noise.

 

“That doesn't bode well,” Alistair's face pulled into a knowing frown.

 

Morrigan stopped with her hands placed firmly on her hips and glared at the Tower rising up out of the center of the lake as if it had told her that she had her mother's nose. “T'would figure that a bunch of men decided to make their mage-prison a giant phallus in the middle of a lake. I am stunned by the irony.”

 

“Thank you for coming with us, Morrigan.” Kahrin meant it, though the two of them barely spoke to one another since leaving the swamp. The Witch intimidated Kahrin somewhat, having never been around one before. She'd never really known any mages. There were mages in Highever, but mostly just healers. Most noble families she knew employed a mage for such things as illness and childbirth. The Howes had one who taught the boys about herbs and things. 

 

“As if I had any choice,” she frowned. “Your meaning is understood, though.” She flexed her arms in the leather armour, uncomfortable with the binding nature of it. They had reasoned that it would be best if Morrigan didn't go in dressed like she'd tripped out of the Wilds.

 

Kahrin gave her a slightly sidelong glance. “We're not going to leave you here, Morrigan. I promised your mother our protection. I know you don't have any reason to--”

 

“I am not worried,” she interrupted Kahrin. “I have no plans to allow myself to be chained to any Circle. Not now, not ever.”

 

“Understood,” Kahrin nodded once, reaffirming her promise to the woman with a hard look before walking down to the dock.

 

The templar at the end of the docks started prattling at them before they were halfway across the dock. Alistair pulled Kahrin aside by the arm and lowered his voice for only her to hear.

 

“He reeks of lyrium … be … careful.”

 

“Be careful of what?” Kahrin looked first at his grasp on her arm and then up at his concerned expression, her tattoo wrinkling across her brow. “I'm a big girl, Alistair, I sew my own smalls and everything.”

 

He sighed with that special hint of exasperation he seemed to save just for her. “I'm going to ask you about that later,” he said, dipping his voice a bit lower, before clearing his throat and continuing on. “What I mean is that templars who are lyrium addled, they are sometimes unpredictable.”

 

“Duly noted, Alistair. Should I keep a man's distance between us, or is it all right to get close enough to speak?” She twisted her arm free, then sighed, looking at him again. “I didn't mean …”

 

“I know. Just be careful.”

 

“I need you to take us across the lake,” Kahrin didn't wait for the templar to stop ranting, and spoke directly to him. “Now.”

 

“Oh, no,” he sliced his hand through the air. “No. I was given strict orders not to let anyone across, and that's what I am going to do. Not let anyone across.”

 

Kahrin and Alistair exchanged glances and she rolled her eyes. There were times to dance around who they were and times to be upfront about it.

 

“We're Grey Wardens. We have a treaty obli--”

 

“Oh! You're Grey Wardens, are you? Uh-huh.” He crossed his arms across the Sword of Mercy and gave them a skeptical look, as if everyone went around these days claiming to be the ones who supposedly killed the King. “Prove it.”

 

“Prove it?” Kahrin's eyes widened in disbelief, her first instinct to shove the man off the dock and into the lake. A hand on the small of her back stopped her from her impulse, and even she wasn't sure if she'd have done it if Alistair hadn't reacted, tired as she'd been lately.

 

“That's right! Let me see some righteous Grey Wardening.”

 

“Righteous Grey … what?” Now she really wanted to shove him off the dock. They would probably need him, though, and she forced that impulse from her mind.

 

“Go on, kill some darkspawn, let me see you in action.” His face was completely serious. He was either very good at his job, or very stupid, she reasoned.

 

“There are no darkspawn around to kill,” she ran a hand down her face and heard Morrigan let out a snicker in the back.

 

“Oh, very convenient. Well, then I guess you can't get across.”

 

“I have these treaties and I need to show them to--”

 

“Oh! Why didn't you say you have a piece of paper. I have a piece of paper that says I'm the Queen of Antiva. You are still not getting across.” He said it with such finality that Alistair moved his arm across the front of her as if he could read the murderous intent she was choking back.

 

“Look,” he said mildly to the templar, “I know Knight-Commander Gregoir. I know that he is going to be rather angry if we don't bring these to him and he finds out it was because you turned us away.”

 

Alistair's name-dropping seemed to hit home with the templar. He pulled his lips into a tight line, then frowned slightly. He gestured at the boat behind him.

 

“All right, all right, we don't need any of that then. In the boat you lot.” 

 

Once they were all settled he pushed off from the dock and began the excruciatingly hours-long trip across Lake Calenhad to the docking area under the Tower. Kahrin sat at the front of the boat, an arm wrapped around the prow while watching the silent fortress get closer. The quiet was so eerie, as if this was a place where life didn't thrive, as if it wasn't teeming with mages inside.

 

“There are stories,” Leliana sat close to her and spoke softly near her ear making small goose-flesh rise, “that the waters of Lake Calenhad glow red in the sunset, reflecting the blood of those mages who submitted themselves to death rather than face the chance that they might fail the tests ahead of them.”

 

Kahrin looked her in her bright blue eyes and frowned. “That's a coward's way out,” she said softly. She couldn't imagine being driven to a point where giving up living seemed like the answer. She had made a promise to live, and she never went back on her promises, she thought with resolute stubbornness and a sickness in her belly. She took a deep breath as the templar docked the boat finally. 

 

Following him out of the boat, Alistair leaned in to pull Leliana up to the stone platform, then pulled a face and reached to assist Morrigan in kind. She pushed past him and hopped stiffly in the leather disguise that Leliana had put together for her. Kahrin accepted the help gladly, the gap between the boat and the platform too wide for her legs to manage safely. She stepped on the edge of the boat and clasped his forearm as he pulled her over. The boat rocked slightly, sending her slightly forward and nearly slipping. He caught her against himself, pulling them both away from the edge and for the space of just one heart beat they stood frozen.

 

“Right, well, be careful. All that armour … you'd sink straight to the bottom,” he let her go and rubbed the back of his head.

 

Kahrin cleared her throat and pulled a hand through her hair, fidgeting around and tying it up. “Yes. Thank you.” She walked away from him before he could see her tan cheeks redden slightly.

 

Even the climb to the main floor was seemingly endless, the stairs spiraled on forever, some of them so small and worn slick that Alistair had to step sideways to get decent purchase with is boots, as did Leliana with her long limbs and narrow feet. Kahrin and Morrigan skipped rather lightly up the stairs ahead of them, though Kahrin was slightly winded by the time they made it into the vast entrance doors.

 

“Ser Carroll, I thought I told you not to bring anyone across,” the man in highly polished plate and a salt and pepper beard chastised their escort. “What is the meaning of this?”

 

Before he could speak in his own defense, Kahrin stepped to the front, the treaty clutched tightly in her hands. “We have business with the First-Enchanter,” she set her chin and looked him straight in the eyes, not willing to be cowed by his height or air of authority.

 

“And who might you be?” he looked down on her, literally and with a face that clearly said he had no intention of hearing what she had to say.

 

“We're Grey Wardens, and this treaty obliga--”

 

“I grow weary of the Grey Warden's constant demand for mages. I will not send any more to help.” There was a tiredness in his tone that made the niggling feeling she'd had since overhearing the gossip in Lothering grow.

 

“Well then I suppose you can fight the Blight yourself,” she said with a bit of bitterness.

 

“Knight-Commander,” Alistair spoke up slightly reverently, “we need to speak to the First-Enchanter. These treaties are commitments and not to be broken so lightly.”

 

Gregoir ran a gauntleted hand down his beard. “Even so, the First-Enchanter isn't available to assist you, and my men can not be spared. I am afraid you have come at a rather inopportune time.” He gestured to a set of large and heavy doors that were barred shut and guarded by two helmed templars. “We are in the middle of dealing with an incident.”

 

So the gossip had been true. “What's going on here?” Kahrin demanded, her patience wearing away.

 

“We are dealing with an infestation of abominations. We've had to seal the doors. I've sent to Denerim for the Rite of Annulment,” he tossed words around casually as if expecting her to just understand. “I've not heard anything back, but I expect it to be any day now.”

 

“Meaning?” she shook her head at him, holding her own gauntleted hand out, palm up, for more explanation.

 

Alistair spoke softly and his eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “I hadn't realized it was that bad.”

  
“That … sounds bad,” Kahrin looked between the two men. She didn't know what a Rite of Annulment was, but she was familiar enough with the word 'abomination'. “What does that mean?”

 

“It means,” Alistair ventured to explain. “That the mages are a bit “grrr … argh …” at the moment, and the Knight-Commander here has deemed them beyond saving.” He held up his finger and made one chase the other to accompany his sound effects.

 

“So they just … locked them all in there? What if some of them are--”

 

Alistair shook his head a bit sadly. She remembered his story of the only Harrowing he'd stood watch over, and knew that it weighed on him. He wouldn't take this lightly.

 

“My templars are in there, also. I've lost a lot of good men to this already. I can not justify sending more. We will wait it out until the Rite arrives.”

 

She felt a bit of panic rising as she searched her brother Warden's brown eyes, wanting him to tell her he was kidding, then looked back to the Knight-Commander, blinking. They were as serious as a funeral pyre.

 

“I need an army. We need help fighting this Blight,” she chewed on her lower lip a moment, and then pulled herself up as tall as all five feet and one inch of her would stretch. She didn't like the way the Knight-Commander looked at her, dismissing her out of hand with one look. “If we help you clear out your abominations, will you help us?”

 

“Kahrin, are you sure?” Alistair grasped her shoulder.

 

“We need help. If the mages are a lost cause, then we need _someone_.” Keeping the desperation out of her voice was more difficult that she'd anticipated.

 

Gregoir looked at her skeptically, clearly writing them off as dead before they passed the door. “If you did that for us, then I would be in your debt. You must know, however, that once you go in there, there is no coming out. Not unless you bring the First-Enchanter himself with his word that everything is safe will I open the doors for you.”

 

“As I remember,” Alistair started drolly, “locking the doors and throwing away the key was definitely Plan B.”

 

“I remember you,” Gregoir narrowed his eyes. “The First-Enchanter, and nothing else will ensure me that things are as handled.”

 

“Then let's do this,” Kahrin rolled her shoulders. They needed troops. They had little choice but to offer assistance if she expected help in return. 

 

“Should we not try to see if there are any survivors?” Leliana asked quietly from the back. “We can't just go in and kill everyone we see.”

 

“If we find survivors,” Kahrin was more resolute now, “we will deal with them then. We can't let abominations out. That would be a disaster.”

 

They followed Gregoir to the massive doors and then stood back as he commanded the templars on guard to open them. The giant bar was slid out of place and the doors pulled back while one templar stood with a greatsword at the ready.

 

The floor not twenty paces in front of them was littered with bodies, sending a bit of a shudder up Kahrin's spine with memories. They looked amongst themselves, Kahrin finally meeting Alistair's face with a nod just before they crossed the threshold.

 

The hallway stank of death and charred meat that immediately made Kahrin want to retch, and for a moment she was pulled into a vision of her brother's chambers weeks ago. So trapped in the memory was she that the slamming of the doors behind them made her jump slightly.

 

They were in it now, for better or for worse.

 

Pulling her swords they began their trek, stepping carefully around the slaughtered mages and templars as they walked.

 


	13. Barriers

The smell in the hallway as they stepped around the bodies was worse than Alistair's cooking. They stepped around the fallen that littered the corridor with trepidation on their way to clear the first room. There seemed to be a nearly equal number of mages and templars here. Kahrin sucked in air over her teeth, a sickening feeling pulling at her gut as she took in every face, committing it to memory.

 

Some of them could have been sleeping, they looked nearly peaceful. Others appeared to be mangled or burned, and it was too late when she figured out where the smell of char and what she had thought was over-cooked pork originated. She covered her mouth with a gloved hand, trying to keep herself from breathing the stench to no avail.

 

They cleared several rooms along the curving hall, finding several salvageable lyrium potions along the way. Kahrin knew they would be handy, even though the idea of looting the dead still sat poorly with her. While she divided the phials up for each of them to carry, she gave Alistair a cautious glance before speaking.

 

“Do you …” she held up one of the potions.

 

“Do I … what? No. No. I never took my final vows. They only give lyrium to templars after their final vows,” he shook his head, tucking a few bottles into a pouch on his belt. “I'm not even certain that lyrium is really required for templars to actually use their abilities. It seems to enhance them, though.” He lifted his shoulders with a slight scrape of metal and let them fall again, giving her a long look when he thought she wasn't paying attention.

 

Kahrin was busy packing her own potions away, not looking up at all. “Good to know, actually. I can't imagine that tastes good.” She also didn't want to think of her friend behaving like the man from the dock. 

 

Leliana checked along the floor ahead of them, catching a few traps, and clicking her tongue at the ones she found that were already tripped. She would have thought that templars would be more aware of traps with magical triggers, but from the carnage, she realized that wasn't true at all. That's why she wasn't surprised when Alistair found one with little trouble. It sent him careening back with a bright flash of green, knocking down Kahrin in the process and literally bouncing across the stone floor.

 

She hadn't really ever seen a body bounce _quite_ like that.

 

“Shit,” Kahrin hissed out between her teeth. At least he hadn't landed on top of her, but she almost wished he had so that maybe he wouldn't have hit his head when he landed. “Damn you,” she said when she gained her brother-Warden's side, her face torn with worry. She checked his head carefully, not daring to move it, a slight grip of fear in her belly.

 

He started laughing almost immediately, clapping one hand to his forehead he slowly propped himself up on an elbow. “I'm touched, really, but I'm fine. A little dizzy, but fine. Not the first time I've hit my head, you know.”

 

Kahrin narrowed her eyes at him, the concern melting away from her features. “You _arse_ ,” she shoved his shoulder. “Wait for Lel to clear the floor ahead of us from now on.” She set her lips into a tight line as she stood. She'd lost too much, she wasn't willing to lose him, the first friend she'd made on her own, so soon.

 

“I am certain that surprises no one, Alistair,” Morrigan quipped as she followed Leliana down the hall.

 

Leliana froze in place, holding up one fisted hand above her shoulder with a soft groan of her leathers. She pressed a single finger to her lips with the other and turned her head to give Kahrin a warning look.

 

Kahrin heard it, heard the voices. She listened harder, the sound of her own heart pounded nearly drowning out the ever-present hum of her blood, which muddied the sounds. She shook her head to try to clear it, noticing how the hum quieted more when Alistair sidled up with a quiet scape of his plate against her own.

 

There were _children's voices_ ahead. _Children_. This should not have surprised her as much as it did, knowing that essentially they were in a school for mages. There were other voices also, but apart from that, Kahrin knew why they were here. The first thing they needed to know was _friend or foe._

 

Leliana gave her a nod to indicate that there were no traps in front of them, letting Kahrin move to the front of the group as they swung around the doorway into a wide room with a high ceiling. The passageway at the other side of the room was glowing with what appeared to be a magical barrier.

 

“You! Stop right there. Why did the templars let you in?” the smooth voice had a bit of grit behind it as the mage held her staff up offensively. There _were_ children, several of them behind her with three other mages. One of the women was on her knees, rocking back and forth in a hushed prayer, and the other two stood in protective stances in front of the children.

 

Kahrin did as she was told, sheathing her weapons and holding her palms outward. She squinted her eyes against the bright light of the barrier, recognition tugging on her memory as the woman spoke.

 

“You, you were at Ostagar,” incredulity dominated the tone of Kahrin's voice.

 

“You were that Warden recruit,” the elder mage said, lowering her staff only slightly, brushing a silvery strand of her hair, smoothing it over her short ponytail, her voice softening a hint. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Wynne, right?” Alistair said cautiously. “I remember you.”

 

“We're here to clear the abominations,” Kahrin didn't bother hiding suspicion from her voice. She wasn't trained in anti-magic combat, not the way that Alistair was, and she nearly took a step back towards Alistair, but resisted it. She had been asking him to teach her, and he'd refused twice already. In the back of her mind, she cursed him slightly.

 

“Gregoir let you in?” she lowered her staff finally, sighing slightly sadly and pinching the bridge of her thin nose. “Then it is as I feared.” Wynne looked up at Kahrin with a heavy weariness in her gently-aged face, “Gregoir has the Rite of Annulment?”

 

“No,” Kahrin and Alistair answered quietly in unison. “Not yet,” Kahrin continued. “But, he does expect it to arrive any day now.” Her eyes kept darting to the children. The oldest of them could not have been any older than twelve. One of them reminded her of Oren, and her stomach clenched tightly, forcing her to swallow. “What are you doing out here?” Kahrin finally had the mind to ask.

 

“I've erected a barrier between us and the rest of the Tower. No one can get through unless I take it down. Petra and I need to protect these young ones,” she gestured behind her.

 

“What happened here? What _really_ happened, I mean. I have heard what Gregoir said …”

 

“Let it suffice to say we have something of a revolt on our hands, led by a man named Uldred. He's taken over the Tower. If you let me join you--”

 

“Oh, no,” Kahrin said, “no, you would be better off here, keeping the children safe.” Kahrin wasn't about to take this woman through the Tower and be responsible for her, or separate the children from their protector.

 

“Nonsense,” Wynne frowned slightly, the creases around her lips deepening. “This barrier will hold anything back that might attack. I can replace it from the other side. You need me. I know this Tower.”

 

“No, we can do this on our own.” Kahrin pulled out the reserves of her stubborn Cousland pride. “There's no need to put yourself in danger for this. If there are survivors, we'll need somewhere to send them.” She crossed her arms with finality, as if that was the end of the discussion.

 

“I am afraid I am going to have to insist. I won't take the barrier down unless you let me go with you, and you won't get past it if I do not take it down.”

  
Kahrin knew an impasse when she was up against one, though she was reluctant to admit it aloud. She wondered in the back of her mind if Alistair could disarm the barrier somehow, but she preferred an amicable resolution. She kept her face smooth and emotionless, just like her mother had taught her, and assessed the possible outcomes.

 

“I need a moment with my companions,” she said softly, but firmly. She set her jaw and lifted her chin, letting the woman know that this was not a sign of weakness.

 

“I understand, but do hurry. Lives are in the balance.”

 

Kahrin didn't need her to be so dramatic for the gravity of the situation to hit home with her.

 

“If we can save some of them,” Leliana looked at Wynne and moved to a far corner. “If we can help them, we should.”

 

“I agree,” Kahrin kept her voice low for just the four of them. “I would prefer not to take the woman with us, but I think she's leaving us little choice.” Looking at Alistair, she seemed to ask with her eyes what she didn't dare put to words.

 

“I … I don't know, to be honest. I could try--”

 

“Ser,” the quiet voice startled them. “Are you a templar? I didn't mean to drop eaves, ser.” The mage girl looked scared out of her skin, shaking worse than a leaf. “Please, ser. I know we're being punished. I know this is our payment for our curse. Please,” she started crying as Alistair stared at her, wide-eyed, shaking his head helplessly.

 

“I'm not … no.”

 

“Please ser, please spare me with the sword of mercy,” she sobbed. “Take my curse away … please!” her voice starting rising in panic when a woman with deep red hair came over and wrapped a careful arm around her.

 

“Come, Keilli. Don't bother them.” The young woman with the ponytail spoke mildly but firmly. “You may come over here and pray with me. I apologize, ser.”

 

Alistair worked his jaw several times, fumbling for words.

 

“It's no problem,” Leliana offered. “We all handle these situations differently.”

 

“We'll do it, Kahrin said finally. We'll help them. If there is a way to prevent any more … death, then we should take it.”

 

“If there are abominations, Kahrin, there won't be anything we can do to help them. The person they were is gone.” Alistair made that pained face he had when discussing things from his experience as a templar.

 

“We have to try,” she said quietly, looking around at all the children.

 

“Then let's try.”

 

Kahrin pinched the bridge of her nose to stave off a headache that was blurring her vision as they walked back towards Wynne.

 

“Why are we helping these people?” Morrigan asked without bothering to keep her voice down.

 

“What do you mean?” Kahrin looked at her, wishing she'd stay quieter.

 

“They allow themselves to be chained up like cattle. They deserve their fate,” Morrigan shook her head, golden eyes stern as she spoke.

 

“Morrigan, if circumstances were different, this could be you. You could be one of them,” if Flemeth hadn't been her mother, anyhow. Kahrin couldn't imagine Morrigan being taken by templars under Flemeth's watchful eyes.

 

Morrigan sighed in resignation. “Fine, let us help them maintain their half-lives.”

 

Wynne narrowed her eyes at the two of them in her conversation. “What was that?”

 

“We're going to help you, Wynne,” Kahrin started, but the elder mage cut her off.

 

“Your counsel is an apostate,” she hardened her face again, and pulled her staff, putting Kahrin on the defensive instantly. 

 

“What?” Kahrin's hand twitched for her swords, but she no intention of attacking anyone. “No, Wynne, we're going to help you. You may come with--”

 

“You are more dangerous than I thought,” the woman began weaving a spell, the glow starting around her staff.

 

“No, no,” Kahrin began to panic. This was not what she wanted … they were her to help. “Let's talk about this.”

 

“You've been poisoned by this maleficar, I will not see this Tower lost to the likes of you.” The first bolt of magic shot at her and Kahrin barely had time to duck out of the way.

 

Morrigan reacted quickly, her mouth moving in a murmur of words that were unheard, and threw a forcefield on the woman, freezing her in place, even if only for a few moments.

 

Kahrin learned some realities about mages very quickly in those next few seconds. Even mage-children knew how to defend themselves. They knew how to wield the power that they held in their fingers, how to manipulate the power of the Fade, and she learned that the very instant that a bolt of lightning hit her and knocked her back, trembling, to the ground.

 

Her teeth rattled together so hard she worried that they might crack. “A—Ali--Alistair … th—the ch—chil—dren. Don't--”

 

He didn't need direction. They weren't going to kill children, scared, frightened _children_ , unless there was no other choice. They hadn't fallen that far yet. What he could do was better than anything else that could happen, now. He pulled his sword up to his face as if saying a silent prayer to it, drawing his will, and then splaying his arms he let loose the violent flash of light. He cringed as the young ones were thrown to the ground, but at least they were cut off from their magic, for now.

 

Struggling back to her feet, Kahrin saw Morrigan freeze the male mage just as Wynne broke free from the magical prison that held her. She turned, pulling magic, the crackle of more lightning around her. Kahrin didn't want to hurt her, but it had clearly come down to a moment of her, or this mage. Kahrin ducked and ran forward, pushing her sword through the woman's soft middle, breaking her concentration on her spell and making her eyes go wide.

 

The battle around them faded out to a dim humming of sounds around her as Wynne slid to the ground, trying to prop herself on her staff, glaring at Kahrin. “You win,” her voice was accusing, and it struck home.

 

“I am so sorry--”

 

“Don't,” Wynne snapped. “The children, please-- spare …”

 

“I didn't want to kill anyone,” she shook her head. “I wanted to help. One of you can heal, can't you? Oh Maker, no. No.” She moved her hands to try to remove her sword and put pressure on the wound, but Wynne stopped her with a strong grip on her forearm.

 

“Well, you have certainly done that now, haven't you, you and your apostate and your--templar.” Wynne grasped her middle near where Kahrin's sword still protruded from her. “When you pull the sword out, child, I won't last. Find Niall. He can help you, if you,” she rasped slightly with the effort of speaking, “truly wish to help.” She closed her eyes as if listening to something distant that only she could hear. “I can't be healed now. It is … my time. Go. Please, now.”

 

Shaking hard, Kahrin yanked the sword free, not willing to look the woman in the eyes. She struggled backward a few squatted steps, before she braced against the wall and stood, the blood of the mage dripping from her sword.

 

The battle had stopped. Two of the other mages lie still on the ground, their eyes empty, only the dark-haired girl remained, crouched in the corner, muttering an urgent prayer again and again, rocking back and forth.

 

“Take the children,” Leliana put an arm on Keilli's shoulder, and she screamed out at the contact. Leliana pulled back but moved her head to catch the young woman's gaze. “Take the children back towards the main door, and hide in the sleeping quarters. Go, now, quickly.”

 

Keilli whimpered, repeating over and over about being cursed and that this was her punishment. Crawling to the nearest child she shook the him awake, trying to get them all to get up.

 

Kahrin moved to the door which now had no barrier over it, holding herself up against the arch. Her body shook with a tremor, and she retched on the floor.

 


	14. Reveal

  
  
Redcliffe was a lovely little arling on the southernmost shore of Lake Calenhad. It was mostly a logging village, its castle perched up on a beautiful cliffside, and the view was splendid enough that on clear days one could even see Kinloch Hold far off in the distance, rising up ominously from the middle of the lake. The village proper was reached by a series of bridges over the small creeks and rivers feeding from the lake that constantly blew a steady stream of mist up as they walked along. Alistair took a moment to let it hit his face, remembering some of the happier moments he’d had growing up here.  
  
They reached the town with good time: early, only six days after leaving Lothering. Just before crossing the first bridge, Alistair figured it was time to stop her and get this off of his chest. She was chatting away with Leliana, and she looked so happy. They had really begun to get on together, those two.   
  
He tilted his head and paused over that thought, pulling on his ear slightly. Maybe they _were_ really getting on well together, and that was why this was all so confusing. He reached in between the padding of his armor and his splintmail and slid out the crushed, purple flower, it's petals pressed. He didn't have any books or a proper place to press it, and this would have to do. He slid his thumb again over the petals, and then slid it back into its place, over his heart.  
  
He cleared his throat, and the two women stopped and looked back at him. They giggled softly to themselves, then Kahrin cleared her throat softly.  
  
“Yes, dear Templar?”  
  
“Um, Kahrin, I need to speak to you a moment, if I could.” He ran a hand down the back of his head and managed a lopsided smirk.  
  
“I hope this isn't about that thing on your foot again,” she replied casually as she walked over to him. “I won't let you off the hook for losing because of it.”  
  
“What? No, no that isn't it...”  
  
She stopped a few feet in front of him and began fussing with her hair again. “Good, I'll try to find you a healer for that as soon as we can. It looks ghastly. What's on your mind?”   
  
“Uh, ha ha. You're going to laugh.” The look on her face told him he shouldn't be so sure about that.  
  
“Right. Well, I was going to tell you this sooner, and look! Now we are here at scenic Redcliffe! With everything that is going on, I am, uh, certain there is no way it isn't going to come up, so I wanted to tell you now, so things wouldn’t be, well, too awkward.” Kahrin arched her eyebrow high on her forehead, and he winced inwardly. He didn't like the way that always looked like it could kill him.  
  
“We're friends, Alistair. You can trust me with anything.” She tried to soften her expression, but t wasn't working and he balked for a moment before continuing on.  
  
“Right.” _Don't be mad don't be mad don't be mad._ “You remember that I said that I knew who my father was? That the Arl took me in … when he didn't have to? Well, that is because, uh, how do I say this? Well. It's because, my father was, um, is, sort of... King Maric.” _Don't be mad don't be mad..._  
  
Kahrin's face went from confused, to blank, to a slow dawning before her head finally tilted and that same eyebrow arched again.  
  
 _Oh, crap she's mad._  
  
“Why, you Royal Bastard! Of all the horrible things to keep from me!” He hadn't been expecting it, and that was probably the only reason someone so small could have knocked him completely to the ground so quickly, placing two hands firmly on his chest and shoving with surprising force. “You … you mean to tell me that you've been _lying_ to me all this time?” She slapped him then as hard as she could across the chest, but it looked like it hurt her gloved hand more than he noticed it.  
  
“Royal Bastard? I'm going to have to use that one. Ha.” He tried holding up his hands to protect himself as he struggled up to his feet, but neither humor nor his hands seemed to work at deflecting her rage.  
  
Kahrin got up and paced away from him, pulling on fistfuls of her hair and mussing her braid before rounding back at him. “I can't believe you kept this from me! Of all the things to keep from me! You're Cailan's _brother_? Why, Alistair? Why?”  
  
“I, um, well. I wanted to tell you, it just didn't seem like it was ever a good time,” He managed, shrugging awkwardly.  
  
“A good time? You mean, like somewhere after the time when we were blamed for the King’s _death_? Or, you know, when we killed Loghain's men to keep them quiet about our whereabouts? Or, maybe all those quiet nights at camp talking! You know, like friends do!” Kahrin drew her sword. She actually drew it. He didn't know what that meant, but it didn't look particularly _good_.  
  
He held up his hands again, hoping to calm her down a bit. “Now, Kahrin, let's talk about this. I wanted to tell you, it just always seemed so... awkward. What with, you know, the Blight and all the trying not to die.”  
  
“Andraste's flaming sword, Alistair! You're the heir to the _throne_ , and we are the only two Wardens left in Ferelden. Who, I might remind you, are currently under suspicion for killing the _King_! Do you really not see why this is a problem?” By now, Sten, Morrigan and Leliana were watching things unfold with no small measure of abject horror. “There is a _bounty_ on our _heads_!”  
  
“So...I'm guessing you aren't planning a royal wedding?”  
  
Kahrin screamed and rushed upon him, and he barely had enough time to pull his shield. She was angry, but he knew that she hadn't intended to actually kill him. If she’d wanted to do that, she would’ve pulled her dagger as well. Still, she was hitting him with enough force to send a good jolt up to his shoulder.  
  
Apparently drawn weapons were enough to elicit action even from the stoic Qunari. Sten stepped in, wrapping both of his enormous arms about her upper arms and across her chest so she was unable to move. He lifted her clean off the ground then, and she continued screaming a nice streak of curses at Alistair that he’d never even imagined existing, her legs still kicking and flailing about. He had no idea where she would learn how to curse like a sailor living with an army. Leliana felt the need to step in front of him protectively, while Morrigan stood off to the side of the road, laughing to herself.  
  
“You must gather your wits about you.” Sten was stern and his voice flat. “You cannot kill him like that. Removing the head would be wiser.” _Right. Leave it to the murderous Qunari to be “helpful”_.  
  
“Hey! I'm right here!” Alistair narrowed his eyes, his voice rising almost a full octave.  
  
“You must calm down, Kahrin. This obviously isn't helping.” Leliana, once again trying to mediate, stepped between them. “This could even work to our advantage. Perhaps this is the solution we have needed.”  
  
“What?” Both Kahrin and Alistair looked at her.  
  
“Ferelden's King is dead, and he had no heir. Ferelden needs a King who can unify her both against a murderous regent and lead her against a Blight.” The former sister cocked her head. “It seems that one has been dropped in your lap, _non_?”  
  
Kahrin paused in Sten's grasp and narrowed her eyes at Leliana, who stood with her hands on her hips as if her logic was irrefutable. Her hair was wildly hung around her face, most of it shaken loose from her braid. Sten, for his part, made no motion to put their leader down.  
  
This was bad.  
  
“No! Noooooo. Absolutely not. Nuh-uh. No one here is talking seriously about making me _King_. Are they?” Alistair made the best incredulous face he could, an eyebrow shooting up high on his forehead, because this was nonsense. Who would really go for this?  
  
“It makes sense. T'would solve much of the problem we face, it seems. Though, one would wish we were faced with a better choice.” Oh, well, of course. Morrigan would say that just to piss him off.  
  
“The boy put his boots on backwards this morning. Now he is fit to lead a country. _Pasharaa_. This is hardly a choice.” _What? Et tu, Sten?_ “He has the strength of a warrior. He could kill the dissident. Let them fight for it in armed combat.”  
  
There was no way Kahrin was considering this. He looked at her, pleading with his eyes. _You know this is a bad idea, right?_ “It was made known to me long ago that there was no room for me on the throne. I was to have no delusions of rebellions or taking crowns.”   
  
He searched her face then, as Sten set her to the ground. Kahrin sheathed her sword, with an almost scary calm. Her chin was held high, as walked to him, her face set, looking him in the eyes as she did so often. She crossed her arms.  
  
“I've wondered, since the moment I've met you, why did your eyes look so familiar? You have Cailan's eyes. The same eyes. But kinder, in a way.” She removed her glove and touched the side of his face, softly. Another time he could have melted into that hand, but he wouldn't break her gaze. She turned his face to the side slightly. “How could I not see it before? You look so like Maric. More than Cailan ever did. Of course you're his son.” She paused for the space of several excruciating heartbeats, as if in thought. “It's the best plan we have, Alistair.”  
  
He gaped at her. “You must have cracked your skull in that tower. This is a terrible idea. I can't be king. I can't _be_ king. You heard Sten, with the boots! I've never even been to court!”  
  
“I can help you.” She said quietly. “I have. I can teach you what you need to know. The rest … you'd have advisors, and … well of course you'd marry so we'd just have to find you a smart --”  
  
“Oh, that’s it, this stops now!” he bellowed. “This is _my life_ we are talking about here. _Married?_ Don't I get a say? Does anyone care what I want? Would you let anyone do this to you? Kahrin! Tell me you are not _asking me_ to do this!”  
  
Kahrin looked at him and her face was placid. “Of course I care. It's just that … if we don't find a way to do this, Loghain will win. He'll keep the crown for himself. What choice do we have? Why tell me if … Why _did_ you tell me? You obviously didn't trust me with it until the last moment, and that really hurts, by the way, don't think you are getting off easily for that. Do you think he knows about you?”  
  
He regarded her, his hand on his ear again. “Why not? Maric, erm, my father did, and Eamon did. I wouldn't be surprised if it had something to do with the hunt for us now. Does the Arl know that you escaped?”  
  
“What does that have to … ” Slow dawning spread across Kahrin's face. She crushed her face into her hands. Of course they _knew_. Whether they knew they were together remained yet to be seen, but the missing young Teyrna and the Bastard Prince were now missing in Ferelden, and it was possible they had both taken refuge in the Grey Wardens and  possibly survived.  
  
“You've endangered us by not telling us, Alistair. How could you be so selfish?”  
  
He didn't want to talk about this now, in front of everyone. He looked at her, begging her to do this later. She wasn't letting up, and now everyone was looking at him, expecting an answer.  
  
“I didn't mean … I mean I didn't think …” He palmed his eyes.  
  
“Tis’ the most correct statement to come out of your mouth since we began this journey,” Morrigan chuckled. He really could use less of her right now.  
  
Luckily for him, and not so luckily for Morrigan, it was the wrong thing to say. “Shut up, Morrigan! Ugh! You have nothing to say until now?” Kahrin turned her rage at the Witch.  
  
“The boy has used poor judgement. Even you can see –“ It almost looked as if Kahrin's dagger had sprouted from the tree next to her head.  
  
“I said 'shut up'. I need to think”. She crouched to the ground, holding her face in her hands. “I know you didn't mean to, Alistair. Just... you can _not_ keep things like this from me. I can't help you if you lie to me.”  
  
“It doesn't sound like I want _your_ help. You, you want to just ship me off like everyone wanted to do to you! Like everyone's been doing to me! Don't raise a fuss, Alistair! Do what you're told, Alistair! This is _for the best_ , Alistair!” Damn it, he was about to cry again, and he couldn't do it here. He had been so close to leaving it all behind him, and then Cailan had to go and get himself killed.  
  
“Alistair, stop. It's going to be OK. We can …” She tried to touch his face again, but he jerked away.  
  
“Let's just go. This was a mistake. I thought …” He touched his hand to his face, remembering the night before, and he shook his head feeling incredibly foolish. “Never mind what I thought. It's all out now.” He'd been so stupid.  
  
 _No surprises there, Alistair. It's what you're good at, remember?_

 


	15. Sacrifice

“Kahrin,” the voice rang out across the dead quiet of the camp.

 

Everyone had been silent the whole way back to camp, and no one had so much as spoken a word to Kahrin the entire trip from Redcliffe. Alistair hung back, bringing up the rear, his face unreadable as they traveled. Every time Kahrin glanced back his direction he refused to meet her eyes.

 

She knew this was coming, him approaching her when she was all alone.

 

“Now that we're back at camp, I think we need to talk about—”

 

“I don't want to talk right now, Alistair.” She toed the ground with one boot, not wanting to face him.

 

“Well, we're at camp, so I don't know when else we'd do this.” She finally looked up and met his eyes, the colour of whiskey.

 

She could really go for a good, hard, pull of whiskey. She stared up at the sky, which seemed cruelly clear and beautiful on such a night. Though, maybe it was because of what had happened that it was so beautiful. Accepting the soul of a good woman who shouldn't have … 

 

“Fine, Alistair.” She braced herself. She'd had a feeling that he would want to discuss this.

 

He stood in silence staring at her for a good long time, the firelight glinting off of his armour and making his hair appear more red than the sandy colour it really was. He rolled his lips in slightly, looking as if he were chewing on them, then took an audible breath. “I thought we should discuss what happened, back in Redcliffe.”

 

 _What had happened in Redcliffe_. Those words just made it all sound as simple as having tea and sandwiches, not at all like they had just made the decision to end a woman's life.

 

Kahrin couldn't think of Isolde – of all the blood and gore of the ritual – without picturing Orianna, dead in a pool of her own blood in their chambers.

 

She winced, visibly, she was sure. “It was a difficult situation, Alistair. It could have—”

 

“How could you let Lady Isolde kill herself? With _blood magic_ , Kahrin. How did that seem like an answer?” He held his hands up in front of him, waving them back and forth as he bellowed at her. He actually _yelled,_ and she'd never seen him do that. Not even when they'd first arrived in Redcliffe and he'd revealed his big secret and she had raged at him for lying.

 

She blinked at him, working her jaw open and closed a couple of times, not sure how to respond. She was on the verge of crying out of the smack of guilt to her heart. Taking a mother away from a boy Connor's age, roughly the same age as Oren had been … it was like a sickness in her belly. If she cried now, though, she wouldn't stop. She'd open the floodgate that was holding back the grief of every loss since Howe's men had attacked, and that was something she wasn't ready to release, especially not in front of him.

 

“Alistair,” she started softly, her brow raising slightly, arching her tattoo slightly. “What would you have had me do? Kill a child?” Her voice grew more stern than she'd meant it to as she continued. “Would that have been better?”

 

Kahrin didn't know exactly how one ended up possessed, beyond the fact that it meant a demon had to inhabit the person. She knew it had to do with the Fade, and that generally, as far as she knew, the person had to be willing.

 

Had Connor been willing? What he'd done had bought them time, much needed time to hopefully find some way to cure his father. It was the only parent he had left, and that very thought churned Kahrin's stomach. Taking a parent from a child … it was too close to home.

 

Alistair shook his head and narrowed his eyes at her, and Kahrin tried to remember if she'd seen him this angry before. “No, but I owed Arl Eamon better than that. When he wakes up he's going to—”

 

“Look,” she'd cut him off abruptly, blinking back tears. “I did the best I could. You were there. What _should_ I have done?”

 

“I don't know, we could have gone to the Circle for help.” He stared at his gloved hands, glaring as if it were the gloves that had offended him. 

 

“Alistair, think about what you are saying.” She sighed, her voice softening slightly. “The templars would have killed him on the spot if we'd told them what was going on. If we can't squash the rumor that is going to follow him, they might still. They aren't going to spare the son of an Arl. Not over this.” Kahrin shoved her hands in her hair and turned her back to Alistair, clenching her eyes shut tight. _Do not cry. Do NOT cry._

 

She could hear him deflate slightly behind her, long before he put a hand on her shoulder plates and she could hear the soft scrape of metal from his gauntlet.

 

“I know. It's just.” She turned to look at him as he began tugging on his ear with the other hand. “It's all this death. It's just starting to … It's so much.” He looked at his hand on her pauldron and pulled it away sighing. “I am so sorry. I shouldn't second guess you like that.”

 

“It's all right, Alistair. You're the senior here, I _need_ someone to second guess me once in a while.” She scrubbed her face too hard with her gloved hands but found the pain of scraping the skin oddly comforting. “I really am sorry.”

 

Alistair raised his shoulders and let them drop. “No, I'm the one who should be sorry. Maker, I was such an ass. Forgive me?” He gave her a lopsided smile that didn't quite reach any part of his eyes.

 

“Of course. What am I going to do? Hold a grudge? That doesn't sound precisely conducive to teamwork.”  Kahrin looked off into the fire. “I need you. I can't do this without you. I'd be half as strong and twice as alone.”

 

“Funny, I seem to remember saying something similar to you. Wasn't all that long ago, was it?”

 

It hadn't been.

 

Standing outside of Flemeth's hut, watching him stand in the cattails around the stagnant pond of water, his face swollen and eyes red from tears he'd tried to hide. His grief mirroring her own, their losses so devastating and so similar.

 

She'd tried to leave. She'd wanted to run far away, and he'd convinced her to stay. _Don't leave me now_ he'd said.

 

It might as well have been a lifetime ago.

 

It actually had been, and in just a few weeks she'd gone from Teyrn's daughter to somehow leading a very interesting group of ragtags around towards a goal that might kill them all. She didn't even know who she was anymore.

 

Allowing _blood magic_ to solve their problem.

 

But, for her, it really hadn't been a choice. Her hands were tied, and now a boy was motherless, just like she was. That was not something she should be thinking about. Not right now.

 

Now was the time to hold it together. Now was the time to keep her chin high and her mind focused. They had something to accomplish. They had to survive, and _then_ she could think about all of those things.

 

“Hey, where'd you go just now?” He looked at her, an eyebrow raised in concern.

 

“What?” Kahrin stirred out of her navel-gazing, looking up at him.

 

“I asked if you were hungry. You looked like you were somewhere else for a minute. You all right?”

 

She gave him a strained smile to let him know everything between them was forgiven, and to hopefully convince him that it was the truth. “Yeah. I'm fine.” She was hungry, too. “You didn't cook right?”

 

“Like I'd have had the time. I was a little busy making an utter ass of myself to my friend.” The smile she got back told her that things were fine. They'd get through this one tiny thing because they both knew there were things bigger than this minute, no matter how much it hurt either of them.

 

“Sounds perfect, then.”

 

She gave him a light punch to the arm and he slung it over her shoulders, leading her over to the log by the fire to sit down.

 

 


	16. Smitten

“You’re squirming. Sit still,” Alistair chided her gently. 

 

“I _am_ sitting still.” She knew she was fidgeting. She was, frankly, bored. 

 

Every noise distracted her already overly-active mind. Her knees ached from kneeling on the ground. Her feet tingled like they had fallen asleep. Even her back ached despite her sitting in the most relaxed posture she could manage. She kept glancing over at him, wondering how he managed to stay so still. The singing of the magpies irritated her. She resented _songbirds_ for disrupting her meditation.

 

“Really?” he replied drolly, still with his eyes closed and his breathing metered. “That is a new definition of still.”

 

Her mouth pulled into a tight line. “I’m _trying_. I’m just distracted. I thought we’d be moving more. Don’t grin at me like that,” she snapped.

 

“If you had your eyes closed you wouldn’t know I was grinning.”

 

“I hate you. I can’t do this.” She stumbled to her feet. She felt a little guilty that he was putting so much effort into teaching her while she had a distinct lack of equanimity.

 

This had been their reconciliation. They had taken some space from one another after the incident at Redcliffe castle. While their spat had ended amicably, it had put an awkwardness between them for a while. Time had been the only balm after everything they had respectively been through up until she had finally broached the topic of his templar training.

 

Fluidly he swept to standing and turned to face her. “All right. Fair enough. I suppose we can skip that for now.” He gave her an odd sort of smile, the warmth in it disarming her slightly.

 

“What?” she asked, readying herself into the first stance for the physical forms. She settled with her knees slightly bent and her feet shoulder-width apart. She honestly loved the forms. She got this part. Muscle memory made sense to her. The motion of muscle and sinew and bone from one pose to the next. Moving made sense to her. It was natural, and since becoming a Warden it felt like more of a need, her blood itching when she sat still too long. 

 

The training had a definitive grace to it. It was more like dancing than fighting, and he made it look lovely and effortless. At first she’d been skeptical, but after a few days she began to recognize the way that the postures meshed with sword forms and the long arcs of motion coordinated with fighting. 

 

“Is something funny?” she inquired, pulling her mouth into a slight pucker and narrowing her eyes at him.

 

“Nothing funny, exactly. More ... amusing.” He fell into line beside her and mirrored her stance.

 

“I fail to see the distinction.” She glared at him, but his good mood was infectious and made it break into a half-grin. She raised her arms and stepped forward into a shallow lunge, feeling the buildup of will inside her as if it were finally a tangible force.

 

“More like this,” he suggested. He gently lifted her elbow and corrected her posture. “Your arms would be up more because you don’t use a shield. Adjust the forms to how you would fight.”

 

“I am never this calm when I fight,” she grumbled.

  
“You aren’t really calm now.” There was a hint of amusement behind his eyes. He stopped again and guided her shoulders as she pivoted on one foot into the next stance. “You’ll channel better if you don’t have anything ... um ... blocking it.” He swallowed once. “You know, nothing distracting you.”

 

Rolling her shoulders she grunted and tried to shake it out. Sometimes when he tried to help the contact distracted her. It was different at the end of the day when they were both in armour, but they only wore undertunics and leggings in the mornings. Sometimes the touching startled her, others it was warm and welcome.

 

This morning it was different still.

 

Closing her eyes again she repeated the first two sets, listening to and feeling him doing the same next to her. She turned, splaying her arms for what he had told her would be a Holy Smite. Just like every other morning and night, she felt nothing when she reached into her gut for the power she would need.

 

“I still don’t feel anything,” she huffed exasperatedly, actually stamping her foot. She reset and repeated the motion with a frustrated grunt. “See? Nothing.”

 

“Well,” he began, halting his own form to stop and face her. “You haven’t been at it very long,” he explained patiently, stepping towards her, then pausing. “Try it again, right now. Just ... clear your mind and concentrate. I’ll do it with you.” 

 

_Clear your mind_ , he says. _Concentrate_ , he says. Easier said than done.

 

Starting at the beginning she inhaled deeply, moving from the first set into the next again, seamlessly. She repeatedly glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes, catching him stealing glances back at her. This was one thing where he bested her, his patience and discipline. He had it in spades where she was often impetuous and easily agitated. Her arms dropped when she saw him smirk. 

 

“Something funny?” she asked again.

 

He didn’t miss a step, and kept gliding into the next form as he laughed. “Not at all. Well, maybe a little. I told you that it’s important to stay calm.”

 

“I _am_ calm.” She gritted her teeth and wished he had brought his shield so she could knock the look off of his face.

 

“Ah. Yes. I recognize this variety of calm!” he laughed. He finally turned to her and ruffled her hair with a crooked grin. 

 

She stared at him with a look of incredulity on her face for the space of a single heartbeat before her palms met his chest and she shoved him. A head shorter than he was, she still packed a surprising amount of force behind it, letting a loud grunt when she pushed her arms and shoulders forward, stepping into it.

 

What she hadn’t expected was the bright flash of light which sent him careening back. The thud he made against the tree was oddly satisfying. She stood shocked, staring at him while pine needles settled about him on the ground. The look he returned back was almost equally stunned.

 

The laughter bubbled up slowly from deep in her belly. The irritation she felt melted away at the sight of dust and leaves and debris in his haphazard hair. Unable to stop it, she doubled over, covering her mouth and letting it roll out of her.

 

“Hey! You di-- oh you think that’s funny, do you?” He narrowed his eyes at her, though she could hear a hint of mirth in his voice.

 

“No. Well, yes. Yes. I’m sorry ... it’s just ... you. Your face.” Nothing but garbled incoherence followed as she clutched her knees to keep herself standing, roaring away.

 

“Well I’m glad you find that so amusing.” 

 

Tears slid from her eyes and she blinked them away through her whooping. The next moment she felt herself slung over his shoulder before she had a chance to react. 

 

“Alistair you put me down!” she shrieked, breathless from her cachinnations. She pounded on his back and kicked her legs and squirmed, nearly managing to slip free behind him, but stopped by his tightened grip on her legs.

 

“Back in the Chantry, they used to tell us that we had to learn to keep our tempers in check. Right now, I think you need to step away and cool down,” he chortled.

 

“Cool down? What do you ... where are you taking me?” She looked up as he lugged her past the camp, Leliana giving her a cheerful wave as they trod by. “Wait ... is that the stream? No! You put me down!”

 

“Oh,” he chuckled. “I’ll put you down all right.” 

 

She heard him splash into the water and then saw it rushing past her. Before she could protest again they both went under. The icy cold of the just-thawed stream shocked her, knocking the breath out of her at first. When she surfaced, he was doubled over, wiping his eyes with his thumbs.

 

“Y-you think th-that’s funny?” she chattered through her teeth, glaring at him again. 

 

“You should-- oh Maker. You’re all--” his words were swallowed up by another loud guffaw.

 

Her mouth dropped open, then her chuckles started up again. She gripped her aching side from the rough laughter, gasping to pull in a breath. “I really ... really hate you right now.”

 

“I know ... I’m not--not even sorry,” he tittered, though it was beginning to sound like he was crying.

 

She dove at him, pushing him back into the water with a loud cackle. Had her mouth been closed she might not have gulped down a mouthful of stream. It burned, the sputtering instant before she was completely surfaced.

 

“Hey,” his snickers finally died down and a hint of concern took over his voice. He grasped her elbows and helped her to standing. “OK, trying to inhale the stream isn’t as funny as it might seem.” He clapped her on the back firmly.

 

She braced herself with a palm against his chest as she hacked up a good bit of water, still bubbling with the aftermath of the giggles. “It’s fine, Alistair. Really. I’m good.” She leaned her forehead against him for a moment, finally drawing in what felt like a full breath.

 

He lifted her chin up to look at him and lifted an eyebrow. “You’re sure? I didn’t mean to--”

 

She nodded, the smile fading slightly from her face. His single finger felt warm against her chin even though her back teeth were still clattering against themselves. “Really, I’m fine.” Her eyes grazed over his face, settling on his mouth briefly before she looked away quickly, flushing. 

 

_Huh. That’s new._

 

“Good,” he murmured, his voice abruptly lower, softer. “I would have felt terrible, had I hurt you. His hand slid around to the small of her back. She wasn’t sure if he pulled her closer or if she moved herself forward, but her fingers curled into the front of his sodden shirt and the shiver down her back wasn’t from the chilly water.

 

“No. Not hurt.” She swallowed, hesitating for a moment, before she tugged on the front of his shirt. “In fact, I’m good.” 

 

“Yes. You are.” Slipping his fingers up into the thick tangle of her wet hair, he closed the distance between their mouths. 

 

She tensed. At first she stood completely still, then relented, parting her lips and leaning up onto her toes and into him. Circling her arm around his neck she let her tongue slip past his lips. He pulled her tighter to him, responding with his own tongue. His arm tightened around her waist and he lifted her up and off of the ground just for a moment. It was warm, sending a tingle from the point of contact and into her limbs. Kissing him felt easy, comfortable, and so _right_ that for several pounding heartbeats she didn’t question it.

 

_What are you doing?_

 

With light pressure from her hand flat on his chest she pushed back.

 

“Alistair,” she breathed, looking down at the water rushing past their feet. “I, uh ...”

 

“Was that too soon?” Cupping her face in both hands he turned it back up to his, his brow knit slightly. “Because, I’ve gotta say. Wow.”

 

She smiled, though she shifted from foot to foot, slightly baffled at what had just happened. “I ... don’t know,” she admitted honestly. “It was ... nice.”

 

“Nice? Well, next time I will have to shoot for ‘great’ or even ...” His eyes searched her face. “You’re all right?”

 

She nodded. “Yes. I’m fine. Of course I am.”

 

“You’d tell me, right?”

 

“Of course I would. I ... I just need to ... get. Back.” She sidestepped out of his arm and thumbed over her shoulder. “To camp. So we can ... go.”

 

“Kahrin,” he started, reaching out for her. “I just want you to know--”

 

She chewed on her lip, wringing her hair out. It would take all day for it to dry now. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her face unreadable.

 

“I know.”

 

She turned and strode back to the camp, leaving him behind.  



	17. Advantage

“So that was your father?”

 

Kahrin startled from her reverie and looked up. “What?”

 

“We haven’t had a chance to talk.” Alistair sat on the ground next to her. The old temple on the mountain provided enough shelter, though it was barely warmer than the outside. The difference being that they weren’t going to be piled with the falling snow or whipped by wind. “Not since the gauntlet. You’ve been quiet.”

 

“Have I?” She shrugged noncommittally, gazing into the fire. The brazier they’d found and lit was enormous and made fairly ample warmth for them to build a camp of sorts around. “I guess I didn’t notice.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He had brought a blanket from his tent. Her tent too, honestly. 

 

On the way up the mountain and after falling nearly waist-deep into a drift, she had staged a hostile coup of his tent to stay warm. It was ridiculous to waste body heat, she had informed him. Before he could protest (much) she had wedged herself between he and Barkspawn. The Taint they shared seemed to need the proximity of one another to be calmed amidst all the blighted land and darkspawn. She didn’t know if it was the same for him, but she slept better after that.

 

“Truth?”

 

“Always, you know that.” There was a startling sincerity in his voice.

 

“No. I don’t. There isn’t anything to tell.” Her words trailed off into the crackle of the fire. “I left my parents to die and ran off like a dog with my tail between my legs.”

 

She could almost hear a hint of a smile in his voice. “You know, when you keep making words like that, it qualifies as talking.” He settled the blanket around her and she pulled it tightly. He rested his arm across her shoulders companionably. 

 

They hadn’t talked about that kiss. It seemed that she was content to let it rest as if it had never happened. He tried to not let it keep awkward distance between them. It was a thing they both seemed to dance around like the well-trained swords they were.

 

“Is that how that works? No wonder my mouth seems to always get me in trouble.” She leaned her head against him for a few moments, letting the quiet settle. 

 

Rory was up on watch, and Morrigan had retired to her tent to do ... whatever it was she did while she studied. Hopefully the others they’d left back in the village below were faring better than they had so far. It had taken them more days than she could count to get to the top of the mountain, and they’d had a few good scares along the way.

 

“I don’t think that’s the only reason,” he coughed as soon as he said it. “Ah, anyhow. I just thought you should know ... I think you’re too hard on yourself. What happened wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have ... stopped it.” He looked down at her with a very serious expression that made his brown eyes warmer.

 

How was it _not_ her fault? If she’d been faster. If she’d kept her senses about her. She might have spared at least Oren. She couldn’t even save her dog. If she had begged more or fought harder, perhaps she’d still have her parents, her brother, anyone. She wouldn’t be the last Cousland -- _no, Fergus is still alive_ , she stubbornly thought.

 

Clenching her eyes shut she pushed her head under his chin and fought her tears. There wasn’t time for her to break down. Breathing in deeply, she let the breath out audibly and tried to think of anything at all other than her father’s face in that chamber. She could feel the grief uncoiling in her stomach, making her tremble. There was _no time_ to break down.

 

“Alistair, I ...” She choked over the lump in her throat. _Don’t want to talk about this_. _Don’t want to cry_. _Don’t want to let you see me so weak_. _Don’t want your pity_. _Don’t want ..._  

 

As if something possessed her body and made it move involuntarily, she felt her mouth press to his. Without even giving it a second thought she shoved her hands into his hair, exploring his mouth with her tongue. He tensed momentarily then softened, letting it happen and finally hugging his arms around her as she climbed into his lap, facing him.

 

Grappling with his shirt and feverishly attempting to get her hands to bare skin, she leaned against him, trying to push him onto his back. He tensed again, and with a throaty sigh, gently placed three fingers on her mouth and pushed her away slightly.

 

“Kahrin, what are you doing?” His breathing was slightly ragged and she could feel his quickened pulse.

 

“I thought it was obvious,” she panted slightly. She leaned in again, but he pulled away in equal measure.

 

“Not like this,” he whispered firmly. His face fell slightly as he searched her eyes.

 

She blinked at him, confusion clearly written on her face with a tinge of hurt. “What do you ... we can go in the tent.”

 

“In the ... no.” He shook his head and appeared to flush a bit in the firelight. “That’s not what I mean. I don’t want to take advantage of you right now. It shouldn’t be like this.”

 

The muscles of her jaw flexed as she tried to work her mouth to form words. “Alistair,” she started firmly. More so than she’d intended. “You aren’t _taking_ advantage. I am _giving you the advantage_ here. I _want_ you to take it.” She stayed perfectly still with one hand still curled into his hair and the other on the plane of his chest beneath his tunic. She felt her tears sting her eyes, and whether it was from embarrassment or anger or hurt, she wasn’t entirely sure.

 

He took several deep and cleansing breaths as if trying to calm himself. “But you don’t want _me_ ,” he dropped the words as if they pained him. “Not right now, anyway. Not the way I ...” Sighing, he stopped and started over. She had made that clear once before after he’d worked up the nerve to ask. “You ... you want a distraction. You’re deflecting because you’re hurting. I can’t do this.”

 

Her face hardened into a glare, the tears slipping over the edges of her eyes. “You’re wrong ... you don’t know what you’re ... I thought you wanted ...” How did he know her so well when she kept herself so guarded against him? She grunted loudly and beat her fists against his chest, and before she knew it, she was choking over a strangled sob. “It’s all my fault. It was _my fault_. I wasn’t good enough. I failed them, and I am going to fail this too.”

 

She shook her head hard as he tried to pull her close. She pushed away from his arms and buried her face in her hands as her words became garbled. She raked them up into her hair and pulled at it.

 

“No. No, that’s not true,” he cooed softly, gathering her up. Kahrin resisted harder for another moment and finally collapsed into it. “You’re not a failure. You’re strong, and determined and ... well really unpredictable and a bit scary sometimes.” He cupped her face in both hands and forced her to look him in the face. “This thing in front of us? It would feel impossible to anyone, even without all the ...” He waved one hand around in a circle. “Without all the stuff that has happened to us.” A sadness crossed his eyes for just a moment, and she knew he was thinking of Ostagar. “I think we’re doing all right, considering.”

 

She wiped her nose on her sleeve and tried to calm her breathing. “But ... the Circle. Lady Isolde ... what if ...”

 

He laid his fingers on her mouth again and tried to look stern. It wasn’t a look he pulled off well when he wasn’t actually upset. “We can not keep beating ourselves up for every thing that didn’t work the way we think it should have. We have a long way to go before this is finished. The what ifs will kill us if we let them.” He hugged her to him and this time she let him, her body slacking. “You’re not alone in your fears, but that’s also a good thing.”

 

She snorted. “Oh. How so?”

 

“Neither of us has to do it alone. Not any more.”

 

Chewing on her lip she pulled back and stared at him for what could have been moments or half of eternity. She lost count of her heartbeats, and finally nodded. “You’re right. Look ... I apolo--”

 

He laid another finger against her lips. “Shh. No need. I get it. Maker, I wish I _didn’t_ , but I do.” Setting her on her feet, he stood up and hugged her again. “Come on. Let’s get some sleep before next watch.” Guiding her with one arm he pulled her towards the tent where Barkspawn was already sprawled across both bedrolls.

 

“I thought you didn’t--” She cut herself off when he raised his eyebrow.

 

“It’s cold. I was recently informed it is foolish to waste body heat. Besides, you get cranky when you get cold.”

 

“I do not.”

 

He only laughed and held the flap aside. “In you go.”

 

After great effort they managed to shove the dog aside so Kahrin could burrow down between the two of them. “Thank you,” she murmured, her head against his chest. The ever-present humming was nearly musical when he was near, and she let it lull her to sleep.

 

“Anytime,” He said softly, stroking her hair as he drifted off.  



	18. Ghosts

What should have been a quick trip – only a week according to Levi – had taken nearly twice as long. At least three times they'd had to back track through half of the tunnels and try a new path. They'd had to clear out a startling number of giant spiders, and some rats that painfully reminded her of her last day in Highever. Even a stray darkspawn or two, but nothing to write to Weisshaupt about.

 

When they finally broke to the surface from the tunnels the air was the sweetest thing that had ever rolled over Kahrin's tongue and she inhaled of it deeply.

 

It was also very, extremely cold. Cold enough to make her nostrils stick together for a moment when she breathed in through her nose.

 

Kahrin hated being cold. 

 

As if that point was needing to be proven she took less than five strides up the sharp incline of the path and stepped right into a drift that trapped her up to her thighs, soaking her leggings thoroughly. 

 

“Maker's _ass_ ,” she sputtered, and Alistair chuckled softly, which won him a _look_ , while Leliana cringed at her word choice. “Someone get me out of here.” She grunted, trying to walk and failing miserably. 

 

She lifted up hard on one leg and was rewarded with a boot full of snow. She swore loudly, digging as best she could.

 

Alistair unslung his shield and began digging a path out of the drift for her. Leliana pulled with her gloved hands until they had her freed up enough to walk out, at which point Alistair took off his cloak and slung it over her shoulders.

 

She swam in it and pulled it around her with a glare as if she could make the snow cringe, then turned and continued more carefully up the path. She stayed close to Levi, hoping he'd tip her off to any more Warden-eating snow drifts.

 

“Well, you did it. You found it.” Kahrin looked mildly unimpressed, but she was more than mildly interested in Levi's connection to Soldier's Peak.

 

She knew the tale of the Peak in Ferelden history. It had a slim connection to her own family history. It had been the site of the great standoff between the tyrant King Arland and Warden-Commander Sophia Dryden.

 

Dryden had been a supposed contender for the Crown against Arland, as it was rumored she'd actually been an Arlessa prior to her tenure as a Commander. Her own relatives had supported Dryden in her grab for the Throne, and the Teyrn of Highever at the time had been put to death when Sophia's uprising had been squashed. Of course, Sophia had garnered a lot of support and sympathy, and the execution of the Teyrn had only incensed more people. Arland couldn't risk putting her to death also, and instead, ordered her to join the Wardens. Knowing what she knew now, Kahrin concluded that Arland had never meant for her to survive.

 

Sophia Dryden had surprised a lot of people with her success in the Wardens, though the end of that story, if she recalled, had ended with the exile of the Wardens until King Maric … Alistair's _father_ … had brought them back.

 

“It was a lot easier than I thought.” Levi shrugged.

 

“Admit it, you were lost there a few times,” Kahrin teased him slightly, trying to pull herself out of her funk.

 

Levi shrugged and looked awkward. It was a usual thing for him, Kahrin had noticed, as if he had resigned himself to somehow not being completely worth her time in conversation. “I might have had a few doubts here and there.”

 

Kahrin tried to soften her expression slightly, but her sodden clothing was making that difficult. “Look, 

Levi, that unfortunate incident with the snow notwithstanding, I don't bite. Sometimes I yell a bit. Please don't … take it personally.”

 

“Oh, you're too kind, Warden,” he said, almost to the hem of his shirt collar.

 

“Just call me Kahrin. It's fine.” She pulled the cloak around her tighter against the chill, trying to bunch it up enough to not drag it on the ground or trip over it. Leliana reached around and helped her roll the top of it up to make it shorter.

 

Kahrin was about to thank her when they were interrupted. What seemed like a blurred flash across the path in front of them revealed a nearly ethereal scene of what appeared to be soldiers. There was a man in armour with the ridiculously high pauldrons that always looked as if a person would spend more time trying to not hit their head on them than being protected by them. She squinted slightly into the scene of what was clearly ghosts arguing, and then as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

 

“Maker's _breath_ ,” Alistair gasped slightly. Levi looked at Kahrin with eyes wide enough to be tea saucers.

 

“I have heard stories about this place,” Leliana added softly. “I never imagined they were more than stories. That the Veil was so thin here.” She didn't particularly look as though she was entirely comfortable with the idea.

 

They passed under another large stone archway and rounded the crest of the trail when the castle – a fortress, really – came into view. It was tall spires of turrets and long pathways of battlements. It smelled of pine and tingled strangely of magic. The whole of it covered in snow and breathtakingly beautiful. Kahrin had grown up in an impressive castle. She'd always thought so, but the widespread grace of the structure definitely overshadowed any she'd ever seen, including the Howe's keep in Amaranthine and the palace in Denerim.

 

This was once a home to Grey Wardens. It felt like they were _supposed to_ be there.

 

“Andraste's flaming sword, it's incredible,” Kahrin sucked in over her teeth, and gave Levi a look that meant she was clearly impressed.

 

The grounds around it had run down and there were fairly dilapidated houses that seemed to let off the essence of a life once lived here. It was like a small village on top of the this mountain and in the shadow of this castle. It was strategic as well. Well-placed for easy defense with so few ways in. A perfect place for them to live.

 

Kahrin gave Alistair a look that almost turned both of their mouths up in a smile. This was a place where – should they survive the Blight – the Wardens could be rebuilt.

 

They would have a home after all

 

Though, Kahrin remembered, if things went the way they had planned so far, Alistair wouldn't be with the Wardens any longer. He'd be ruling Ferelden, as was his right by birth, bastard or no. From the look on his face, he had the same thought, though neither of them would put voice to it.

 

That thought made a tiny part of her that she didn't recognize cringe slightly. Not because she didn't think he could do it – quite the opposite actually the more times she spent nightly at camp cramming his head with as much knowledge as she could – but rather … 

 

She enjoyed his company. She hadn't known even a single day in the last several weeks without him, and she'd grown accustomed to his always being around. Not like he was a fixture, just … 

 

The skeletons in Warden livery surprised her, although they really shouldn't have. Nothing should have surprised her anymore, and yet now and again, they did.

 

Pulling her swords and waiting only long enough for Alistair to sling his shield and charge ahead, she placed a hand full of Alistair's cloak on Levi's chest and ordered him to stay back behind Morrigan and Leliana. He took the cloak and did as asked without argument. He was clearly not a fighter. The thought that he might not listen never entered her mind, and her tone relayed as much as she plunged into the fray alongside her fellow warrior Warden. 

 

They fell into a familiar dance of muscle memory, comfortable after all this time of fighting as a team and covering one another's weaknesses. The shared taint between them allowed them to move in close proximity, never colliding. The training in templar skills he'd been giving her allowed her to better sense where magic was flying, helping her steer clear of Morrigan's spells, and her new friendship in Leliana meant that she trusted the woman enough to not land an arrow in their backs.

 

Arrows which did little good against skeletons, apart from pinning them in place. Leliana found herself switching to daggers when too many of the things got too close for even using her bow as a weapon – something which Kahrin noted she was quite skilled at doing.

 

Striking one on its cracked skull with a pommel, Kahrin knocked it to the ground then crunched on it hard with a plated boot. “Why can't the dead just … stay in the ground?”

 

Alistair gave her a wry tilt of his eyebrow as he smashed the last one near them with the front of his shield. “Then how would we amuse ourselves?”

 

“You could always follow through on that promise to don a dress and dance for us.” Kahrin sheathed her weapons and began helping Leliana comb the bodies for anything useful. Waste not, want not, she'd told the young Warden, and they managed a few items which they might be able to both carry and sell later.

 

“I do not like this. This place has a feeling of unease,” Leliana said in a low voice for only her ears as they packed up their plunder. Kahrin made a note that there might be some fruits and vegetables in their future if they found a merchant, and then looked at the bard.

 

“I made a promise to at least look into it. If this goes even remotely well, we might have a defendable place to center ourselves. Did you see that path? It's the only one up here.” Kahrin started up the stairs towards wide double doors, swinging left and pausing at the edge of the landing that wrapped around the front of the fortress.

 

The vista between the trees and archways down the side of the mountain caused a slow breath to suck in and when she let it out a plume of visible breath rose. It was cold and clear and she could see so far down the mountain she imaged it was Denerim off on the edge where ground met sky. A watch would be able to see trouble coming even from the front of the main building like this, let alone how great it must be from the top of the bastions and turrets. The appeal and advantages of this task seemed more and more apparent.

 

“Beautiful.” Alistair said lowly, close to her side.

 

“It is that.” Her gaze never left the horizon. “And practical, too.”

 

“Yes. There is that.” He was quiet for a while. “This could be home, you know.”

 

She noticed he wasn't specific as to whose home, and it pulled at her ever-so-slightly with a bit of sadness. A different sadness than had been there all along, but it was there, in it's own spot in her mind.

 

“It really could,” she said softly, then lifted her chin up and hardening her face again. “We have a lot to do before we put the cart in front of that ox. Let's move on.”

 

Turning on her boot she waved to Levi and pushed in through the wide doors to see what else was in store for them inside. Nothing was ever easy, and she was fairly positive this would be no exception.

 

 


	19. Practical

“This one would speak with you.”

 

Well, it was definitely Sophia Dryden's face that was looking at them, even if the irises were faded and partly vacant. Even if there was obvious decay to the point that Kahrin had to ask herself _what is holding this woman together?_  

 

Kahrin snorted a bit even as she could almost _feel_ Alistair tense behind her. “Levi, I think your grandmother has really let herself go, what do you think?”

 

The awkward Dryden didn't even hesitate in his words for the first time since she'd met him. “That is _not_ my grandmother.”

 

“Good answer.” Kahrin shrugged. “Look, _this one_ , I am pretty sure there is nothing you can offer that I would want.”

 

“This one would make a deal with you. This one knows that the Veil must be repaired.”

 

“Yes. Dealing with demons has brought us such terrific results so far,” Alistair said drolly, his eyes meeting Kahrin's.

 

“You are a fool if you think we would consider that deal. Even without knowing the catch – and there is always a catch – that does not sound like such a deal.” Morrigan looked almost bored as she spoke, and only she could be so cavalier about speaking with demons.

 

She was right though.

 

“I don't think so. I think you've had a nice run for a while, Not Sophia.”

 

Sophia Dryden's face pulled into a glare from the strained and decaying smile she'd worn only a moment ago. “Fools!”

 

Predictably, every body on the floor jumped up and swarmed to fight at the Commander's side, shambling in Warden livery and fighting with amazing dexterity for being so … dead.

 

Sophia fought with surprising strength for a dead woman. The first hit from her shield knocked the wind out of Kahrin, colliding with her armour. It was enough to knock her back and only her dexterity kept her off of her tiny arse. Morrigan trapped Sophia in a cage of telekinetic energy, buying Kahrin time to recover as Alistair took out two of the skeletons with one sweep of his own shield, the same one that Kahrin had carried out of her home amidst the chaos.

 

The undead fell to the last just as the prison released Sophia and Leliana swept around behind her while Kahrin drew her attention. After a few frighteningly well-placed backstabs from the bard, Sophia fell. Just to be certain the abomination couldn't get up, Kahrin dropped to her knees and rocked her family sword over the corpse's neck, the cracking of bone and sinew under the blade churning her stomach just a bit. The deed done, she stood up and gave her a nudge with her boot. If she'd had one fight like this, it felt like she'd had it a hundred times.

 

She wasn't precisely certain that beheading her would stop an abomination, but it was the best she could do short of burning the body and risking a fire.

 

Stooping down she picked up the shield and looked it over. It was far heavier than the one Alistair was using, and it had a gorgeous double griffin on the front of it. She tried to pry it from the hand that was gripping it in obvious rigor and found it nearly impossible to yank free. Finally, taking out the dagger from her boot, she had to cut it from the fingers holding on.

 

“Here.” She shoved it at Alistair. “It's in better shape than that one. We can … we can sell that one and possibly buy something decent to eat this week.” She didn't know why she'd taken the shield from the armory when her mother had handed her the sword that went with it. She didn't use a shield. She could barely heft them, but it had been a comfort to have it, with the heraldry that reminded her of home. It was better than the one that Alistair was using when she'd met him, and though she was reluctant at first, it had seemed more practical.

 

She found an odd part of herself liked him having it. They were close, friends, and honestly more like family as the days wound on. It seemed right. This shield, however, the one she pilfered from the already cold hands of Sophia Dryden, was better, and meant to be wielded by a Warden. A Warden like him, who saw the Wardens as a family.

 

“Don't be silly,” he said to her, testing the weight of the new shield on his arm. “We'll keep it for you. Some day you might want it. I'd no sooner sell it than I would intentionally hurt you. We'll get by without the extra coin. Someday, maybe you'll want to hang it up here somewhere. Or, you know, wherever you wind up when we survive all of this.”

 

“If we—”

 

“When. _When_ , Kahrin.” He reached towards her face, hesitated, then chucked her on the arm with a chuckle.

 

“Of course,” she said, though she didn't sound convinced. “I mean, a dead prince is good to no one.” She chucked him back and helped Leliana who had opened a trunk and had found some gold and small items they could add to their stash.

 

The view from atop the battlements was more stunning that it had been from the ground. The trees seemed to spread on ahead of them forever and into nothing. The snow touched everything and blanketed it and seemed to mute all the sounds around. If it hadn't been for the biting wind that made her eyes water, it might have looked cozy.

 

“Tis not unlike the Wilds in the Winter.” Morrigan almost looked wistful, if Kahrin had the impression that the woman had emotions. Admittedly, she hadn't spent a lot of time getting to know her. Kahrin was still secretly mourning, and the witch had seemed so standoffish. 

 

With a measure of trepidation Kahrin tried conversation. “You grew up there, yes?” She ran a hand through her hair and glanced at the dark-haired woman next to her as she tucked her own wild strands into her hood and pulled it up. The feathers on Morrigan's shoulder were blowing in the rather high wind that was throwing their cloaks back.

 

“Why do you hound me with such invasive questions? I do not pester you with frivolous inquiries,” Morrigan's tone was crisp.

 

“You could, you know. I have nothing to hide.” Kahrin's eyes stayed on the gentle sloping of the landscape. 

 

“Oh, what fun,” the woman chuckled, barely heard above the wind. Kahrin thought it was the first genuine laugh she'd heard from the woman that wasn't at Alistair's expense. “Did I grow up there? Yes. Yes I did. Where else would I have 'grown up'? T'was my home.”

 

“It's so strange to think of Flemeth as a mother.” Kahrin shrugged, picturing the woman from the swamp who didn't exactly match up to the stories. She knew the legend of Conobar and his wife, part of her own family history.

 

Morrigan laughed again. “She is probably not in the sense you would imagine. Flemeth was not affectionate. She taught me many things, the most important was about power. Power means survival. That matters above all else.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms and looked up into the sky. “One time I ran afoul of a Chasind man traveling with a group of merchants. Legends of the Witches of the Wilds are common among the Chasind, and when he saw me he began raving in his strange tongue.”

 

It was Kahrin's turn to laugh. “What did you do?”

 

“Well, the other travelers had no idea what was going on. So, I played the scared little girl, and batted my eyes. They thought that he was trying to curse me.” The snow collected on her dark eyelashes and she blinked several times to loosen them.

 

“That was quick thinking. I'm not surprised that you managed to fool them.” Kahrin turned and looked at her finally, meeting eyes which were gold and oddly didn't appear to reflect the light. Odd and lovely in shade and in the way the gaze seemed to look through her instead of at her.

 

“Meaning?”

 

“That you seem resourceful. I can respect that.” Kahrin pulled the cloak closer to herself, shivering with her leggings and socks still damp. 

 

“Ah.” Morrigan's full lips pulled up into what could be read as a smile. “There are two things that one may always count on about a man. That he thinks you find him attractive, and that you are weak. I am not to blame if that preconception worked to my advantage. T'is the world as men have built it. They have designed the rules, I merely play by them when I have to.” She looked firmly into Kahrin's eyes. “That, sadly, is how we must survive sometimes.”

 

“It makes you useful. Not that I'm just …” Kahrin struggled for a word that didn't sound like she was using the woman.

 

“We are survivors, women like you and I. That we are useful to one another is just as good as any emotional connections, which are merely peripheral at best.” She took what looked like a cleansing breath of the freezing air, pulled her hood tighter and turned. “Come. Let us be on our way before the bridge crumbles beneath us and the ground swallows us whole.”

 

They waited for Leliana to finish disarming the traps, and for once they didn't find them by way of Alistair stumbling into one. The warriors decided that following the rogue now and again was all right, so long as they stayed alert in case a fight broke out.

 

After clearing out another wave of skeletons, they stumbled into what looked like a small research area. The table was covered with candles and several books, which Kahrin fingered through slowly, looking for anything that might explain more about what had happened here.

 

The notes she found chilled her to the core and she was certain some of the images described by the author of them were going to add to the nightmares she already had. This Avernus, this mage, was experimenting on Wardens, in cruel and horrifying manners. Further down the table was a large flask with a bright red stopper in it. Almost as if drawn to it by something inside her, Kahrin picked it up and examined it.

 

“What are you doing?” Alistair dropped his voice for only her to hear. “You probably shouldn't touch that.”

 

“We don't even know what it is, Alistair.” She pulled the stopper out and wafted the scent towards her, wincing slightly. It was clearly blood, but … more than just that. Even though it wasn't living blood, it had a life to it all it's own, and she was intrigued.

 

“Exactly,” he said, looking at it, and then at her, brown eyes wrinkling in worry. “You aren't going to …”

 

She tipped it towards her mouth. “It's fine, Alistair, I know what I'm doing.”

 

“You remember the last time you drank blood, right? You choked, passed out, nearly died. You aren't seriously—”

 

Kahrin took a small sip, the slickness making her cringe, but she forced it down. Setting the vial back on the table and giving him a look. “See? I'm fine.”

 

The flare of pain burned through her suddenly and she doubled over, clutching her stomach. She wanted to retch but she managed to hold it back, not wanting to taste _that_ twice.

 

“Hey!” Alistair grabbed her under the arms and helped her stand. “Hey, are you all right?” His brow creased. “I tried to tell you not to—”

 

“I'm fine.” She pushed away from him, her head still swimming a bit. “You don't have to coddle me.”

 

“I'm not, just … I didn't want …” His mouth turned down sharply. “That was stupid, Kahrin.” He straightened. “Really stupid.”

 

“Thank you so much for your input, Alistair.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook off the last of the muzziness. “Let's go.”

 

“You're not all right. We can stop for a bit.” He reached for her elbow, but she jerked it away.

 

“I don't need to stop. We need to keep moving. Find out more about this Avernus.” She took the short flight of steps, something tugging at her blood that felt odd and foreign, yet oddly familiar. She looked at Alistair one more time, stopping just short of the door. The look on his face told her he sensed it too, and she felt guilty for snapping at him moments before. No matter what happened, there would always be something connecting them. Some things were worth preserving. “Alistair, I …”

 

He nodded, holding his brown eyes to her mismatched ones, and she knew she didn't need to say anything.

 

Pushing through the doors they entered a room with a soaring ceiling, cages hanging over pits, and garish spikes on the walls … one of them holding a decaying body in place. It stank of copper and salt, and her tainted senses pulled in every direction at once, putting her on the offensive almost immediately.

 

“You can stop right there,” a voice boomed, sounding of age and possible non-use. “I know you're here, why you're here.”

 

“Really?” Kahrin called back, craning her neck to see who spoke to her, then looked at Levi and shrugged. “So you know that I'm trying to think of a reason to let you live.”

 

“Perhaps we should speak first, Warden.” The bald man looked at them over the railing from above.

 

“Avernus?”

 

“Yes.”


	20. Atonement

Kahrin held up a hand slowly as they approached the stairs. Alistair looked as if he might object and bit it off, nodding. She watched with open curiosity as Avernus tinkered around, moving things about and setting them down as if they had assigned places. The table was an absolute mess, cluttered with odds and ends, some macabre and some mundane. His gnarled fingers would lift an object only to set it down again while he talked away.

 

“I suppose you are here about Sophia — what’s left of her anyhow,” the old mage chuckled as if to himself, though clearly he was addressing them.

 

Kahrin stopped at the top of the steps, crossing her arms. “Sophia’s dead.” She said it simply. There was no reason to elaborate, and she had no desire to. “Actually dead.”

 

“Is that so? Well, I suppose that was inevitable. If that is true then you’ve done me a favor.” He stopped what he was doing and turned to face them. He gave Kahrin a scrutinizing look which somehow made her _feel_ small. She was petite, but she seldom felt small, and she didn’t care for it. “I see you’ve discovered my research. Good. Tell me, how do you feel?”

 

“We’ve seen your— what?”

 

“You’ve ingested the blood. I can sense it in you. Certainly you can feel the changes.” He moved around the table and took out an aged journal.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“No need to play coy with me, Warden. I can sense it in you.” Avernus gave her a slightly knowing smile.

 

Kahrin cast a slightly guilty look at Alistair. She could feel it. Her blood itched, not entirely unpleasantly, but it also was not comfortable. It made her want to move more, to fight. She had been shuffling her weight from foot to foot while they had been standing there, and hadn’t noticed until his inquiry.

 

“I can sense it, too,” Alistair said quietly. “I noticed it when you … before.” His brow pulled down in the center, out of either concern or frustration, it was difficult to tell. “When you drank the … blood.”

 

Kahrin tilted her head. “I don’t understand … that was Warden blood,” she said finally, the realization dawning on her. She felt a bit sick, suddenly. “Oh. I …”

 

“Have both ingested the blood of your brother and sister Wardens, and have gained power from my research.”

 

Working her mouth a few times, she found herself at a loss for words. “Power …”

 

“It makes sense,” Morrigan began.

 

Kahrin and Alistair and Leliana all looked at the witch with slight surprise.

 

“It’s all about the blood,” Morrigan continued in her matter of fact way. 

 

“Of course you would say that,” Alistair growled at her.

 

“Do not try and take a superior tone with me. Even your Wardens know this to be true. Blood is power. It keeps you warm, it keeps you alive,” she added with a slight smirk for Alistair’s benefit, “it makes you hard. Everything you do as a mortal requires your blood. Why do you think mages are able to use their blood to fuel magic in the absence of mana? At the end of the day, even you, Alistair, know what I say is true. The Wardens change their blood to better fight the corruption. It’s the power of blood.”

 

“Power of blood,” Kahrin said, swallowing hard to force the sick feeling back down.

 

“So, are you here to condemn me for this research?”

 

“You tortured and brutalized your fellow Wardens,” Kahrin protested. 

 

“I did what was necessary. What you are experiencing is only the beginning. Think of what I could do with more time, more—“

 

“Necessary?” Alistair was incensed. “Relieving yourself after an eight hour ride is necessary. But there is noooo excuse for blood magic.”

 

“How eloquent. I did regrettable things,” Avernus said, his voice dropping somberly. “But my goal has always been the bigger picture.”

 

“What bigger picture could you possibly be focusing on with all of this?” Kahrin waved a hand around at the gore that still remained.

 

He laughed. “Grey Wardens do whatever it takes to win. You must know this, both of you, in the situation you are in.”

 

“But not … not like this.”

 

“They knew what they were doing. Their sacrifices should matter.” If he was sorry, he didn’t look it. “If I can find a way to keep the corruption from taking us, from destroying us from within, think of all that we could do.”

 

Kahrin looked at Alistair, her mouth turned down, then at Avernus. “But what you did was wrong.”

 

“Will you still say that if Blights are no longer a threat? If Wardens do not have to die before they even get a chance to fight? If you didn’t have to sacrifice so much of your life, your body?”

 

“You make a fair point,” she admitted quietly. 

 

“Let me make you an offer,” he said with a tone that said he felt he had the upper hand. “You may have noticed the Veil here is in questionable condition.”

 

“You mean torn because of your blood magic,” Alistair reminded him. “The things you did to your fellow Wardens …”

 

“Yes, yes. If you are going to argue semantics with me, boy,” Avernus started almost defiantly, then took a deep breath. “At least hear me out.”

 

“Fine.” Alistair looked slightly sulky.

 

“Let me fix what I’ve done. Repair the Veil, prevent any more demons from crossing over. Once this is finished, you may decide what my fate will be. I will leave myself to your judgment, Wardens.”

 

“Whatever we decide?” Kahrin lifted her eyebrow in question.

 

“Whatever it is you decide. I’ve lived a long life, and have done a lot of things.”

 

“Things that you regret?” Kahrin ventured, though she was fairly sure she knew the answer.

 

Avernus gave her a prejudicial look. “I did not say that.”

 

What was there to do but nod? “We could use your help,” she confessed. What sort of person did it make her to accept the benefits of his research and then condemn him outright? That wasn’t the sort of person she wanted to be. She didn’t know if she could be that kind of person. “What do we need to do?”

 

He seemed to sigh in relief. “I will explain on the way.” He walked, surprisingly spry for what Kahrin figured to be his age. There had to be something to his research. He was clearly living far beyond what years should have been granted to him. 

 

“Are you sure about this?” Alistair grabbed her arm, holding her back a few paces from the rest. “Look at this place.”

 

“Alistair.” She shook her head at him, more firmly than she felt. “No. I’m not but … he might be useful. He might be able to help us. We can’t go around killing someone with as much Grey Warden knowledge as he has. Not when it’s just us.”

 

“Kahrin, I …” He groaned, looking up at the rafters. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. You’re always right.”

 

“I’m not.” She took his hand, looking at it with a puzzled expression for a moment. When did it feel so natural and casual to touch him? “I mean, I’m not always right. I may not be right now. I just …” She breathed in and then out audibly. “I’m scared. It’s just you and I … the others are amazing. We need them but …”

 

“It’s just us,” he agreed. “It’s our job to end this.” He looked at her solemnly. “And we need all the help we can get.”

 

Nodding at him she stood, looking up into his eyes for what felt like a long time. She leapt and threw her arms around his neck and held tightly for a moment. He stood frozen for a few moments before wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly.

 

“Alistair, I …”

 

“I know. Me too.”

 

Letting go of him, she turned towards the door to follow the others.

 

“Keep up, Wardens,” she heard Avernus from the next room. “We’ve no time to waste.”

 

By the time they had caught up with him he was crossing the battlements to the keep proper. The icy wind whipped her hair into her face as she scurried to catch up with him. “What do we have to do?”

 

He gave her a discerning look. “While I repair the Veil, I need you to keep the denizens that cross through from killing me until I finish.”

 

“We can do that,” she said with confidence. _Nothing can be worse than the Tower_ , she thought with a shudder.

 

“Good. I thought you might.” He held the door for her, and she held it from the inside for him and Alistair, the others having gone ahead.

 

Down in the main room again, they fanned out, Kahrin cautioning Levi to stay out of harm’s way in the next room. Coming back down the stairs again, a reflection caught her eye. Wandering, as if drawn to it, Kahrin approached a floor to ceiling mirror in an elaborate frame. The glass seemed dark, though she could still see herself plainly. She stood, transfixed by it, losing track of what was going on around her. Something phantom like a whisper called in words she didn’t understand, but she seemed to believe it told her to touch it. Her own mismatched eyes stared back at her as she reached to touch her own fingers. _Curious_ … 

 

“I wouldn’t touch that, Warden.” Avernus’ voice yanked her back to the present and reality. She shook her head and turned to look at him, blinking several times as the room swam back to focus.

 

“Right. I know I was just … where do you need us?” She pulled her swords and crossed the room with one final glance over her shoulder. “Let’s get this over with.”

 

“Yes. Let’s,” Avernus answered grimly as he began pulling power from the Fade.

 


	21. Luge

Kahrin wiped soot from her face as she pulled her sword from the last demon corpse. She had to run a hand across her forehead to make sure she still had eyebrows. The stench told her that something had singed. She hoped it wasn’t _her_ hair.

 

Avernus looked tired. Why shouldn’t he? He had to be well over a century old, if she had to wager a guess. She didn’t want to dwell too long on exactly how he had managed to live that long. All that was going to do was stir up more nausea. The demons that needed killing had been a nice distraction from the blood of Wardens that she’d ingested in one of her more stellar and well thought out ideas.

 

The mage returned his staff to his back and approached the rest of them.

 

“So,” he began hesitantly. “It is finished.”

 

“So it is,” she answered him in equal beat, wiping her swords as clean as she could before she sheathed them.

 

The promise hung in the air between them.

 

Alistair moved to her side, nearly looming down at Avernus while the others hung back respectfully. His disapproval of the aged Warden was almost palpable. It seemed this had been deemed a Warden matter, and it was to be left to her. She waited a moment to see if Alistair was going to speak up or offer an opinion. When he didn’t she shifted her weight from foot to foot, and looked up at Avernus a bit nervously.

 

“I said that I would subject myself to your judgment. The Veil is fixed, and here we are.”

 

“Here we are.” Her stomach clenched tightly. For a moment she was grateful to her mother for lessons in keeping her face schooled into a Look. Eyes half-lidded, chin up, shoulders back, lips together and teeth apart. The look of a noble woman who was strong in the face of anything and wasn’t going to back down, even if her gut was telling her differently.

 

“So, Wardens, what will it be? Am I to be put down for my crimes?” His tone was slightly sarcastic, and she heard Alistair snort beside her.

 

“Avernus, you went too far.” Alistair crossed his arms, turning a smug face to Kahrin.

 

Avernus lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed. What say you?” He turned towards Kahrin also.

 

She froze for a moment, unsure what to say. Her mind and instinct warred with one another. In her mind she knew that what he’d done was wrong … but deep inside she couldn’t fight the feeling that everything he’d done might be able to help them.

 

Wardens fought Blights by doing what was necessary. Wasn’t that the harsh lesson they learned by fleeing Lothering?

 

She took a deep breath. “I want your experiments to … be ethical.”

 

“Exactly what I was going to— what?” Alistair swung his head at her so fast she was sure he must have thrown part of his neck out of joint.

 

“We need him,” she explained barely above a whisper. “He might be able to help us and …” She grabbed Alistair by the arm, dragging him halfway across the room. “I don’t want to kill anyone we don’t have to.”

 

“I know this trick. This is how we wound up with the assassin.”

 

“And you didn’t want to kill him. I can’t kill Avernus.” She chewed on her lower lip. “Please, back me up on this.”

 

He pressed his lips together firmly. “We check up on him. Randomly, and frequently. We find someone to keep an eye on him as soon as possible and …”

 

“And I am going to give him my blood.”

 

“You’re what?” Blond eyebrows shot up on his forehead and his mouth pulled down sharply at the corners.

 

“I don’t know, it just popped out. But … I think I should.”

 

He stared at her for a long time, working his jaw as if he was grasping for words. Finally he grasped her by both shoulders. “No.”

 

Her eyes widened as her tattooed brow lifted incredulously. “No? What do you mean “no”?”

 

“You are not doing this, is what I mean. No. It’s dangerous, and I am not going to let you.”

 

“Not going to let … What are you talking about?” She yanked her arms away. “You don’t get to tell me what I can or cannot do. I … I drank blood, Alistair, it did strange things to me, and … maybe if I volunteer, he can further his research in a way that isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

 

“He’s going to hurt you. How do you think you get blood out of people?” His voice rose several pitches and he was beyond keeping quiet for propriety.

 

“Don’t you think that maybe it might be worth it if he can find some way to help us? To make all of …” She gestured vaguely, knowing that she couldn’t just screech Warden secrets at all of them. “This. What if it didn’t have to cost us so much?”

 

“Kahrin … Maker … just listen to me. For once!” He ran his hands through his hair and caught the lobe of one ear and yanked on it.

 

“For once?” She was yelling now, and realized that Morrigan and Leliana and Levi had left them alone with Avernus. “Alistair, I always listen to you.”

 

“Yes. That’s right. You listened to me about Lady Isolde. And then again at the Tower.”

 

“That’s not fair. That’s not … you know what? I don’t need your approval! You make me the leader, and then argue with me at every twist and turn.”

 

“I thought you wanted my help. You said it _mattered_. That what I _thought_ mattered. I’m telling you that you … that this is how I feel!”

 

She ground her teeth together, fisting her hair, and letting out a frustrated grunt. “Go find a place to shove your feelings, Alistair. I’m doing this.”

 

“Fine. Don’t expect me to watch.” He glared at Avernus and stomped out towards the main hall.

 

“Fine!” She turned on her heel and followed Avernus back to his tower.

 

She wasn’t sure what time it was when she walked out the main doors. The sun glared down and made her blink against it. The bandage around her arm itched, and for a few moments after she’d been a bit dizzy. Shaking it off, she walked towards the steps, looking about for the others.

 

“Kahrin,” Alistair pushed off from the wall that lined the stairs, making her jump. “Are you all right?” He walked along next to her with a concerned look on his face.

 

She winced. She had no right to his concern after she’d yelled at him. “Yeah,” she told him quietly, looking at the ground. “It didn’t even hurt. Look I’m—“

 

He stopped her. “You don’t have to do that. I was an ass.”

 

“No, you were honest. And right. I’ve always asked you to be honest with me. I told you, I’m going to screw up.”

 

“I know. I mean … that’s not what I …”

 

“Yes it is,” she told him frankly. “And that’s good. Someone has to make sure I’m doing the right thing. I don’t know if what I just did was right, but knowing you were against it gave me pause. What if it can—“

 

“I don’t want to talk about that,” he said it firmly. “Then I’ll start rambling and then I’ll say something embarrassing and maybe we’ll fight or maybe you’ll throw a snowball at me and … Kahrin. You need to be more careful … but right now I want to show you something.” The side of his mouth turned up in a partial grin. “If you’re feeling up to it.”

 

She returned the half smile as he placed an arm on the small of her back, then pulled it away. “With a face like that, how can I say no? I mean … a smile. Show me.”

 

“Here, you’re going to need this,” he told her picking up her father’s shield from the ground. When she looked at him curiously, his smile broadened. “You’ll see. Come on! We pulled a few shields off some of the undead … things that we fought up here. The slope over here doesn’t have a lot of trees in the way.”

 

“In the way of what?” she asked slowly.

 

“Watch. In fact, come with me.” He lead her over to where Leliana was sitting on the ground, flushed with snow collecting in her copper hair. When they got a bit closer, Kahrin saw that she was sitting on an overturned shield.

 

She lifted her hand and waved. “We tried to wait for you, but Morrigan here was too anxious to test it out. It turns out she is quite incorrigible.”

 

The witch rolled her eyes in a manner than told Kahrin this was not quite factual information. There was an amount of snow on her; clearly she had been talked into it at least one time.

 

“Morrigan you might have waited for me,” Kahrin played along, the fight from inside seemingly forgotten.

 

“I shall remember that next time we decide to partake of such delights,” she said dryly.

 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Kahrin told her, climbing onto the back of her father’s shield and gripping the enarmes. “Like this?” she asked Alistair, who put the shield they liberated from Sophia on the ground and sat next to her.

 

“So far as we can tell. We aren’t exactly doing this scientifically.” His larger limbs were crammed on it with elbows and knees spilling over the sides. He grinned at her broadly while he leaned down and forward. “Ready?”

 

“Always ready,” she told him.

 

He reached over and gave her a good shove.

 

The wind froze her face, making her eyes water, but she was squealing on her way down and it never occurred to her to care. Her nose went numb as she careened over a slight rise, nearly toppling over, but leaning to catch her balance before she tumbled.

 

Alistair went speeding past her, bellowing so loud it echoed. Leliana, who would no doubt write a tale about this, followed, shrieking in delight when she hit a bump that tossed her in the air for a good few feet. The bard spun in place when she planed out at the bottom and let herself fall over into the snow. Kahrin’s own shield spun around backward just before she felt herself slam into something solid, knocking the wind out of her and her onto her back.

 

Alistair was laughing when he appeared in her field of vision. “Are you all right?” he asked her, leaning over her and rubbing his head. “You crashed into me. Pretty hard, too.”

 

She blinked a few times, drawing a cold breath that burned her throat and made her nose stick together. Her vision came back into focus until there was only one of him.

 

“Kahrin?” The look of concern came back to his face. “It was too soon. You weren’t feeling well and—“

 

She burst out laughing, rolling onto her side. “I’m fine,” she giggled, looking up at his face, shielding one hand to block the bright glare of the sun. Taking a full breath again finally, she struggled to sit up, cringing as a bit of snow melted down the back of her collar. “Thank you for this. Really. I needed this. I think we all did.”

 

“I agree.” Standing, he stretched out a hand to help her up. “You want to go again?”

 

“You bet I do!” She grabbed the shield and dragged it through the snow after him. “I’ll race you!”


	22. Negotiations

“Just think about it, Lady Cousland,” Eamon said. He spoke with the sort of finality that meant he didn’t intend it to be an actual choice. He considered the matter closed and done.

 

Kahrin gritted her teeth, but managed a smile all the same. “I certainly will, Your Grace.” She inclined her head to him nearly imperceptibly, using a title but reminding him with her gesture of the station he implied she yet held. Grey Warden or no, he was convinced she was the key to their little dilemma.

 

She watched the Arl retreat towards the stairs to the family quarters. Her expression was still one of shock, mixed with a bit of incredulity. She wasn’t sure if her eyes had ever been quite this wide, or her mouth twisted into such a forced smile.

 

The great room had fallen silent for such a long time. She had forgotten that Alistair was still there.

 

“Kahrin?” he broke the silence, making her jump. “I … can see you’re a bit … ah, upset?”

 

“Who’s upset? Me? I’m not upset. Why would I be upset?” She shook her head back and forth.

 

“Look,” he started, placing a hand on her elbow. “Maybe we can go somewhere a little more private and discuss this.” He glanced around the room at the guards who were doing a remarkable job of pretending to ignore them.

 

She looked at his hand on her elbow, then followed his eyes and nodded silently. She strode ahead of him. She made it all the way to the hallway before realizing she didn’t know her way around. The last time they’d been here she had stumbled into the rooms on accident. Almost as if sensing her discomfort, he put a hand on the small of her back and guided her gently towards the first open door. She recognized the polished desk immediately. She’d found the amulet in there, a time that felt like ages ago.

 

Relaxing visibly, she rolled her shoulders and looked up at the ceiling. Redcliffe castle certainly had some fascinating carved wood beams.

 

“Kahrin,” Alistair started again, staying to one side of the desk, looking as if he were afraid to approach her. “I am so sorry. He had no right to interfere like that. Don’t even worry about it.”

 

She blinked at him several times. Opening her mouth to respond, she closed it again. Finally she took a deep breath, and found some words.

 

“Alistair … I was just caught off guard by that. I shouldn’t have been. If I think about it, it makes sense. I just …”

 

“Don’t want to,” he finished for her. He tried, but couldn’t keep his brow from pulling down in the middle. 

 

She frowned back at him, stricken by the look of disappointment on his face. He was worse than a mabari sometimes, the way his eyes looked when he was upset.

 

Her mouth made a small “O”, her eyes half closing. “Oh, Alistair. You … _wan_ t to?” Realizing she was still holding her helm, she set it on the desk and leaned forward on her palms, studying the wood grain. “I didn’t realize … we barely know one another.” That wasn’t true, and she knew it as soon as she said it. In the past few months, who had come to know her better than him?

 

“This whole situation isn’t exactly my first choice. I just, uh …” He ran a hand down the back of his head and turned away, leaning on the top of the desk for a moment. “Look, Kahrin. If this were a perfect world we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. We’d meet at some function and maybe bump into one another. I’d ask you to dance and then step all over your feet. Or … actually if this were a perfect world we may never have met.” He sighed. “I can’t say I’m glad for everything that’s happened … but I’m glad for meeting you. I—“

 

“You have feelings?” She hadn’t meant that as a question. “I know. I just … didn’t realize that—“

 

“I care for you. A great deal.”

 

“Oh.” She stared, unblinking for several heartbeats. “I guess … I knew that.” She did. She would have had to have been oblivious not to. The kiss in the stream, the night back up at the temple. She had chalked them up to her own poor judgment. If she were honest, she knew, and had been trying to pretend otherwise.

 

He moved around the desk. She took two steps backward away from him, then stopped herself. He gave her an imploring look before closing the last three strides.

 

“I don’t want this. I never did. I also don’t want Loghain to benefit from what he’s done.” He sat on the edge of the desk and reached out for her hands. Looking at them for a moment, she tentatively took them and let him pull her closer until she was standing just between his knees. “If this is the course that we are all agreeing is best, I guess I don’t have a choice. I knew someday this would come back to haunt me.”

 

“It isn’t a death sentence, Alistair. You can do this. I know you can.” She tried to sound more confident than she felt with him looking at her so intently. He would make a good king. She knew that. Not just because of his blood or the name. She knew _him_. It was the rest she was so unsure of.

 

“I can’t tell you what it means to hear you say that.” He didn’t look exactly like he believed it himself. That he seemed to be coming around to the idea reassured her. “I can’t do it alone, though.” 

 

“You won’t be alone. You’ll have advisors, and the Landsmeet. You will have help. I know about Court, I can teach you what I know.”

 

The side of his mouth curled up on the side. “I know you can. That is exactly my point. Who better to help me? Who would be better at … my side than someone born to the oldest and most noble family in Ferelden? We already know we work well together.”

 

“Alistair … I can’t—“

 

“Before you say no …” He stopped, sighing. 

 

“These arrangements don’t make people happy. Don’t you want to be happy?” Wasn’t that the point? That they were ripping part of his happiness away in an attempt to instill a sense of duty?

 

“ _You_ make me happy. Knowing you these past months … you’ve been a bright light in all of this darkness.” He stood up and paced back and forth before he stopped in front of her again. She followed him with her eyes as he wore an invisible track in the thick rug. 

 

“But we—“

 

“We what? Have become friends?” She smiled down at her, letting one shoulder lift and then fall back into place. “You’re so sure of me. Can’t I be sure of you, too? Look at everything you’ve done.”

 

“We’ve done,” she corrected him. 

 

“Exactly.” He pulled his father’s sword from the sheath on his back, laying the flat of the blade across his forearm out in front of her. “How many other people would have gone back to Ostagar with me? Helped me pick over corpses to put the bodies of friends at peace?”

 

“I knew some of them too, Alistair. Not as well as you, but no one deserved that death.” They’d recovered Cailan’s personal effects along the way, including the sword Alistair held now. It was legendary. Supposedly crafted by the dwarves and enchanted for fighting darkspawn. Rumored to have been yanked from a corpse in the Deep Roads by King Maric himself. When she had been much younger she had sat upon the knee of the same king at their home, listening to his much embellished version of the tale, hanging on every word.

 

“I know.” Turning the sword blade down, he took her hand and wrapped it around the pommel.

 

“What are you doing?” Her brows knit together, wrinkling her tattoo.

 

“I think you should have this,” his voice dropped softer, as if afraid anyone might hear them.

 

She looked between him and the sword. “This is your father’s sword.”

 

“A father I never knew,” he reminded her. “But you did. It means more to you than it ever would have to me.”

 

“I can’t accept this, Alistair. You can’t just gift a blade to someone. It’s ill-luck.” She said it in a way that meant she thought the matter was settled.

 

He grinned at her crookedly, tugging on his ear slightly. “I know. So you’ve told me before. I was hoping that we could arrange some sort of a trade.”

 

She softened a bit, laughing. “What in the world would I have to trade you for such a blade? You can’t put a price on it.” She searched his face, trying to get some idea of what he was getting at.

 

He lowered himself to one knee, giving her one of those rare opportunities to be able to look down into his face.

 

“I was thinking that maybe you would trade me a promise.” The sincerity on his face was nearly enough to move her to tears.

 

“Oh, Alistair. You aren’t …” She put her other hand over his, which was holding hers to the pommel.

 

“Marry me. If you are going to go with this absurd plan, going to put me on the throne, I need you there with me.”

 

“I don’t know what to—“

 

“We’re splitting up tomorrow. It is going to be weeks until I see you again. Let me go off knowing that I’m coming back to you. My best friend and … the woman I … love. You’ve been my partner in every way this far. Kahrin Cousland, I need you.”

 

Her mouth fell open slightly. She hadn’t known. Or _had_ she known? She would have thought that would be something she’d have noticed. She swallowed.

 

“Of course I will.” She heard the words before she realized she’d said them, and tried to not look surprised by them.

 

“Really?” He sounded surprised, but happily so. 

 

 _Yes, really?_ “Really,” she assured him without hesitating.

 

“I think I had a dream like this once.” He laughed as he stood up, cupping his free hand against her face, brushing his thumb along the curve of her tattoo. “Then I looked down and realized I didn’t have any pants. Everyone started laughing.”

 

Despite her apprehensions, she smiled at him genuinely. “Well, you still have your pants on now. So far so good?”

 

“So far so good.” He curled his fingers around the back of her neck. “I’d like to try that kiss again. Maybe have this one end … without it being all, um, awkward?”

 

She nodded, moving closer, placing one hand up on his chest. “Third time’s a charm?”

 

“Maker’s breath, I hope so.” He grinned nearly helplessly as he captured her mouth with his, sealing their agreement.

 


	23. Deals and Bargains

Kahrin paced back and forth in front of the fireplace in her room.

 

Eamon and his _plans_. She might have known that this would come up eventually. She'd told him exactly where he could shove his _plan_ for the throne as far as it had concerned her. He was nosy and meddlesome and infuriating the way he presumed he could just intrude on their … whatever they were.

 

What she hadn't expected was Alistair's reaction to the whole thing.

 

After enough discussion, he was warming up to the idea of being King. It was his duty, and his right by birth. She would fight to put him there if she had to cut a path through the nobles herself with her own blades. Not just because she thought he should, but because she knew that he could.

 

But _joining_ him there, that had not been a thought anywhere in the vicinity of her mind. Ever.

 

She pressed her lips together and thought for a few moments about taking her swords and ramming one through the soft middle of the Arl for planting ideas in her companion's head. Her _friend_. No, neither of those. Her betrothed, now. Right.

 

Instead, since murdering him was impractical, she put her swords on the the weapons rack and started unbuckling her armour. She'd had enough practice with it by now that it didn't take her long to get down to the tunic and leggings she wore under the heavy plate and scale. Tugging at her leggings, she paused with them halfway down her hips.

 

She was stewing and distracted. She knew she was, and that it was going to keep her awake. 

 

Yanking her leggings back up she set her jaw then braided her hair hastily. Pulling her fingers through it she let it down again. She tied it up in a knot, then untangled it and ran her fingers through the tangles.

 

Swearing out loud to herself, she yanked her door open.

 

Marching down the hall she shoved the door open to Alistair’s room where he was getting ready for bed. He was departing for the Brecilian Forest the next morning, and she for Denerim. It was going to be the first time they’d been apart since Ostagar. He jumped at the sudden noise of her walking in, then smiled.

 

“Kahrin.” He had the plates off, laying them neatly on the rack next to the bedside table.

 

“Hey. Look, I was thinking.”

 

He blinked. “This usually bodes well for me. This is how this whole 'Hey, Alistair, you should be the King' business started.”

 

“Are we going to do this? Because I don't remember you chiming in with a lot of objections to Eamon's brilliant plans for my part in all of it. In fact, I seem to recall you being a fan of some of the particular points.” She tapped a finger on her waist, chewing on her lip. “Or have you forgotten since just downstairs?”

 

“Right. Look I’m— ”

 

“If you apologize to me now, I swear to Andraste I will probably punch you.” She felt her mouth turn up on one side despite her aggravation. “And I'm rather fond of your nose.”

 

“It is a nice nose. Family heirloom, actually.”

 

“Alistair, stop that.”

 

“What?”

 

She narrowed her eyes, though she couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her. No matter what, at the end of the day, they were friends. Now it seemed they were to be more. 

 

“The inappropriate humor. The deflecting.” She stopped talking for a few minutes and started pacing again. “I had an idea, anyhow. If we're going to do this, I need to know some things about you. I know I didn’t seem excited, and you said no before, but I think I may need to reconsider that stance--”

 

“Wait, no to what?”

 

“Well, sex, because I assume we are going to be expected to actually do it what with—”

 

“Wait, what?” His mouth fell open slightly.

 

“—and I want to make sure that we work as well together doing that as we do fighting and making other decisions.” Taking a deep breath her words spilled out in a tumult. “I realize that I don't even know what kind of wine you prefer or what your favorite colour is, or if you have a middle name. I mean, we’ve been friends for months now. Mine's Brigid, by the way. These all just seem like things a wife should know about her hus—her husband.” The more she practiced saying it, the easier it was to get out. 

 

“Whoa.” He held his hands up, palms out in front of him. “Slow down. Back up the cart a second. We’ve lost the horse.” Flushing completely crimson, he backed up a step for every one she took towards him. “I thought you didn't want to … Wait. _Do_ you want to?”

 

“That was before. Before all of this.” She blinked at him, almost confused. “Why are you looking at me like that? It's a simple enough arrangement.” Her head tilted to one side, her tattoo wrinkled across her brow slightly. “Now let's discuss the rules.”

 

He swallowed hard once when she pulled her tunic over her head, then reached for his. “Clothes? I mean rules?” He reached one hand over the back of his head and began tugging on his ear. For someone so tiny she sometimes terrified him. 

 

“Yes. I'm curious. Aren’t you curious? I think there needs to be some ground rules if we are going to do this.”

 

“Curious, she says, like, it's a new kind of dessert she's never had before,” he muttered to himself. “Kahrin, we can't just...”

 

Completely keyed up she kept going, the words sounding as if they were all one. “Sure we can!” Lifting her shoulders, she let them drop as he shrugged out of his shirt. “I’ve seen the way you've been looking at my arse since just before Haven. I know I made a mistake there, but we’re a little past that, right?” If they survived all of this they were going to be married. “I’m just saying, let's rip off the bandage.”

 

He backed completely into the wall, laughing nervously. “I'm not sure that's now it works. I mean, I...”

 

She rolled her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Look, Alistair. You have two choices here, the way I see it.” Kahrin tried grinning, though she was more nervous than she would admit. “You can keep looking at me like I'm a two-headed Mabari, or you can literally _take off your pants_.”

 

Propping herself against the stone wall, one hand on either side of him, she smiled, more gently. His breathing quickened as he let his eyes drift over her. She dropped her leggings into a pile at her feet, stepped deftly out of them and kicked them aside. 

 

“Maker, Kahin, I— wow. You’re … beautiful.”

 

“I know. I mean, thank you. So, do _you_ want to?”

 

He nodded slowly, then swallowed. 

 

“Good.” Relief was obvious on her face. “My nipples are sensitive, I like my neck kissed, and try not to tell any inappropriate jokes. We should be fine.” She grabbed both of her hands over her head and stretched from one side to the other, popping her shoulder. “Alistair?”

 

“Yes?” he barely squeaked out.

 

“Pants.”

 

He hesitated, but only for a moment before complying. “Right, so, I can keep my socks on?”

 

She laughed. “Yes. Keep your socks. I want us both comfortable.” She gave him an appreciative look, sucking in a breath. “I think this is going to work out.”

 

He responded by flushing. Taking one more breath and closing her eyes, she lurched forward, pulling his face down. She was kissing him before she could talk herself out of it. His arms flailed a few times as if he didn’t know what to do with them, then finally he was holding her, chest to chest. She pulled him back onto the bed, laughing up against his lips.

 

“I can't believe we're doing this.”

 

He paused for a moment, pulling his face back from hers. “We can stop. Would you rather go outside for a spar? We can always go spar.”

 

She pulled back and looked at him, cocking her Cousland Eyebrow at him. “Alistair, just … stop talking.”

 

He nearly choked over a laugh, then met her mouth with his, leaning her back into the mattress. He was clumsy and awkward, at first, though she'd expected that. Using her feet to scoot herself back further onto the bed she took pauses from kissing him to pull him along. Taking a moment, he smoothed his hands from her shoulders and down over her breasts, trailing one to her hip.

 

“I—OK, so we're doing this.” He positioned himself over her, settling down onto his forearms.

 

“Right, well, sort of. I mean, not just yet, exactly.” She stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out what he was doing with his hands. “OK, kiss my neck, right,” she nearly giggled, cupping a hand over the back of his head. She took a deep breath to keep from laughing. His stubble was scratching her face. “OK, yes, hands there are fine, whoa! What are you... not there... yeah, slow down, it's not a race!”

 

“What?”

 

“You're not digging to Orlais!”

 

“Right, I—  sor—”

 

“I swear if you apologize I'll—OK well that's not bad!” It really wasn’t. Her eyes fluttered shut as her hips arched upward at him involuntarily. “Alistair. _Please_ ,” she suddenly whimpered. Her fingers gripped tightly into the muscles on his arms.

 

“Wow, you're strong,” he grunted.

 

“I work out. Now go a little lower,” she directed him as he kissed along her torso, exploring. “Right, lower. Whoa! Too low!” She propped up on her shoulders and looked at him, eyes wide.

 

“Oops!” He glanced up, clearly embarrassed. 

 

She grabbed ahold of his face, thumb and forefinger on his chin. “It's fine. Listen. I'm not made of burlap and you aren't nuzzling a mabari. Just … _relax_ , OK?” She leaned forward and kissed him hard on the mouth. Leaning back against the pillow she folded her legs over his shoulders.

 

He nodded enthusiastically with a crooked smile, looking more confident than a moment before. Patience was not her strongest virtue, but she tried moving her hips to one side or the other so she didn’t sound like she was barking orders. He'd accused her of being bossy occasionally. She tried careful instruction, which he took well, finding his way around with fingers, then his tongue.

 

Her eyes rolled back in her head with a soft moan before her breath hitched and she let out a loud, throaty scream.

 

He stopped, pulling himself over her onto his palms. “What? What’s wrong? Oh, dear Maker, are you OK?” He frowned down at her, concern creased across his face.

 

“Wh-what?” she gasped for air, looking at him incredulously. “Why did you stop?”

 

“I just mean, usually when you scream like that, you're injured. Or angry, and about to hit me and I—”

 

“ _Alistair_ —” she grunted, “I _am_ going to punch you, _so hard,_ if you keep talking and don’t— don't get back down there,” she nearly whined, shoving his head back down.

 

A scant few heartbeats later he was back on track. She writhed helplessly while he gripped her thighs, the sensation building up like a coil in her belly. Finally it unraveled, her hips bucking up against him.

 

She yelled out a string of loud curses, taking Andraste's name and various body parts in vain quite creatively before collapsing back against the pillow. With her eyes closed she grinned at the ceiling, panting. He pulled himself up next to her, draping one arm over her torso and dragging a finger along her ribs.

 

“So,” he said, pursing his lips slightly, then burst into a bit of a grin. “That was … all right? And here I thought it would be awkward. Or that I wouldn't be any good at it. Maker, Kahrin I …”

 

She laughed. “Oh, you're cute.” Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and gazed up into his brown ones. “Hold still. Well, not _still_ , but— hold on, I'll show you.” She gave him a quick kiss. Pushing up on her hands and knees, she slung a leg over him. 

 

He twined his fingers into hers while she held herself aloft. Teasing him a few times with her opening, she slid slowly over him, listening to the guttural groan that left him. He held both their hands over her hips, stilling her for a moment. “Don’t— don’t move just yet. I … want to remember this. How this … moment feels.” 

 

As if she was going to let him lead the show. She hadn’t listened to him opine for months about how he couldn’t lead just to let him suddenly decide he wanted to right _now_. With a half-smirk she used her legs to set herself into motion as slowly as she could, letting his reflexive movements guide her for the pace. She grinned more broadly when he cupped his hands over and gripped his fingers into her rear. 

 

“Right. A little harder,” she murmured softly, the pleasure warming through her again. She tried to hold them both back, to take their time, though he was getting the hang of it and figuring out quickly what he liked. He used his hands to encourage her movements, increasing the speed gradually. “Yeah,” she grunted softly. “Circular is fine … good actually. Hey, watch that you don’t go too— your...oh, never mind then.” His strangled grunt came just before she felt his muscles react, her own clamping down around him. His mouth hung open for a few moments, eyes wide. He dug his fingers hard into her hips, making her laugh out loud from the sudden tickling. She snapped her mouth closed quickly, not wanting him to think she was laughing _at_ him.

 

Alistair relaxed, pulling her to his chest tightly. Panting, she pushed up on her forearms, then kissed his chin.

 

“Oh, Kahrin. Kahrin I’m so—“ His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. 

 

“It’s fine. Really,” she reassured him softly. “I _will_ walk out of here if you try to apologize one more time.” She giggled out a bit of a breath, and slid off him, settling onto the pillow beside him. “Well, I guess it's safe to say we can work with that. I knew we'd figure out the teamwork here.” She grabbed the sheet and slid out of the bed, chasing after her smalls when he sat up and grabbed her arm.

 

“Uh, Kahrin?”

 

She looked at him, eyebrow raised. “Hmm? Again already?”

 

He snorted. “Uh, ha. No. I just, thought that you could uh …”

 

She was bent over, shimmying back into her smalls and stopped, giving him a glance. “What? You need a snack now? Some cheese on toast? Is this going to be a thing? You getting hungry right after?”

 

“What?” He looked at her, puzzled. “No! I,” he sighed, slightly frustrated. “Never mind.”

 

She bit her lip, then sat on the edge of the bed. “No secrets, right? This isn't the way to start off a relationship.” She tilted her head at him. “Tell me what you want.” She crossed her arms over her breasts, but tried to soften her face. “Don't make me beat it out of you.”

 

That won her a lopsided smirk. “I thought you might stay here, tonight.”

 

“Oh.” Her mouth formed a loose “O”, her eyebrow arched up. It wasn’t an absurd request. They’d been sharing a tent since Haven, though, not quite like this. Still, she should have seen this coming. “I don't know if that's a good …”

 

“Well, if we're going to do this, I need to know if we can sleep next to one another. In case you hog the bed or have cold feet. I mean, if you drool on me that might be a deal breaker. Then I'd have to call the whole thing off and marry Barkspawn. Imagine the scandal.”

 

She'd taught him to negotiate a little too well. She smirked at him. “Fine, you make a reasonable argument. No tickling, and you _will_ play with my hair until I fall asleep.”

 

He laughed softly. “You do drive a hard bargain. I accept. Maker's breath, get over here.” He pulled her to him, hugging her tightly to him. “I love you,” he said in hushed, soothing tones into her hair.

 

“I know.” She said quietly, clenching her eyes shut. “Thank you. Now, enough talk.” Straightening the sheet out again she curled up next to him. Rolling her eyes, and after thinking for a moment, she slid a leg between his and laid her head on his shoulder. “Sleep now.”

 

“Yes, ser,” he murmured against her.

 

 

 


	24. Parting

Usually the first one awake, Kahrin wasn’t used to being disturbed from her sleep by other people. She’d slept so soundly, her blood calmed and humming pleasantly. It had been months since she’d slept in a bed, and her whole body objected to waking up. It was the knocking that eventually roused her.

 

“Your Highness?” The woman’s voice was muffled from the other side of the door.

 

Slightly disoriented, she stirred. It took her a moment to realize she was not alone, and another still for her mind to register that she was naked and tangled up in arms and legs. The previous night came back to her slowly at first, then all at once. Wiggling around slightly and attempting to slide herself away, he pulled her tightly against his chest. 

 

“Mmm. Don’t go. Not yet.” Alistair burrowed his nose into the top of her hair.

 

Tensing slightly at first, she relaxed after a moment, then pressed her lips to his chin. “Alistair, I think someone is at the door for you.” So many things had changed in such a short time. After a cup of coffee, she might be able to wrap her head around all of it.

 

“What?” He leaned down and kissed her. “I don’t want to get up. Or go,” he mock-sulked.

 

The knock came again. “Your Highness. His Grace would like to see you. He’s asked me to bring you to breakfast.”

 

That seemed to catch his attention. Releasing Kahrin from his grip, he pushed himself up on one elbow and looked at the door. “Was that for me?”

 

“I think so,” she answered softly, draping the sheet over herself and tying her hair up at her neck. “It certainly isn’t for me.” Not yet, anyhow. That was one of the things rattling around in her head that required a good deal of coffee. Perhaps some strong drink.

 

“Ah, just … just a moment,” his voice caught, rising a few pitches in panic. “I need my pants and … Maker’s breath! They don’t know that … well, you and …”

 

Sliding out of the bed, she shimmied into her smalls and snatched her tunic off the floor. She pulled it over her head and shoved her arms into the sleeves. Picking his leggings up from the floor she tossed them at his head. 

 

“Calm down. It’s not a big … look. I think eventually people were going to assume … you know. This.” She gestured around, her mouth turned up in amusement. 

 

He stopped, one leg in his pants and tilted his head at her. “You think?”

 

“I think. That’s what …” She shrugged. “You know. I think people are going to expect it.” Tugging her leggings on she looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “Are you ashamed of me?” She was joking. Mostly.

 

“What?” He finished with his trousers and pulled his tunic on backward. “No. Not at … what is wrong with this shirt?”

 

With a soft chuckle, Kahrin rounded the bed and helped him straighten his tunic. “Good.” She stopped, looking at her hands smoothing the front of him. “Ah, because … well.” Stilling her hands she took a step back, biting on her lip.

 

“Hey,” he said softly. With two fingers he turned her face up to look at him. “Are _you_ ashamed? You look … I don’t know. Unsure?”

 

“Me?” She moved to step away, and thought better of it. “No.” Pursing her lips for a moment, she added, “no, not at all,” with more insistence. 

 

“You didn’t change your mind since last night?”

 

She smiled finally, laying her hand over his on her face. “No. I didn’t."

 

Appreciative relief broke across his face. “Good. Because after … all this. I would have worried that it was because …”

 

Blinking once, she narrowed her eyes in confusion. “What? Oh! Oh, no,” she laughed, then lowered her voice. “Not after that performance,” she whispered cheekily up into his ear.

 

“Ha. You.” He leaned down and kissed her slowly, cupping his hand over the back of her hand. Pulling his mouth back just enough to speak, he grinned widely. “Have made me a very, very happy man.”

 

Kissing him felt more natural, easier now. Once they did it a few times, it was easy enough to replicate. She imagined that everything else would too. “Good.”

 

“You’re happy, too, right?” 

 

Stumbling over her boot, she turned to look at him. “Of course. Look, Alistair.” She straightened up and regarded him. “Don’t over-think this. This is a good thing.” _She_ was trying desperately to not over-think it. If he started doing it too, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep herself calm over her decision.

 

“Right. I’m being stupid.”

 

“No, you’re not. I understand.”

 

“I just … this all happened very fast and … well. I love you.”

 

Eyebrows shooting up on her forehead, her lips parted slightly while she sucked in a short breath. “Oh. Well.” She tilted her head from side to side, remembering to smile. “I know. Let’s … I think they’re waiting for us for breakfast.”

 

“Right. Of course they are.” He stole one more kiss from her and opened the door where the young elven woman stood, patiently. Her face took on a look of surprise and she gripped her hands more tightly together.

 

“Your High … Oh!” she exclaimed, trying to keep the surprise off of her face. “Lady Cousland. You’re not in …”

 

Kahrin paused long enough to smile at her. “Good morning to you.” She held her head up high and walked to her own room as if she did this every morning.

 

The woman curtsied at Alistair, who waved his hands back and forth. “Oh, no. No. None of that, please. Just … Alistair. As always.”

 

“Of course, ser,” the woman squeaked timidly.

 

Despite how aggravated Kahrin was with Eamon, she had to confess that he outfitted them well for their travels. Sparing no expense, his hospitality had been refreshing after sleeping on the ground in the cold for months. They didn’t have the coin between them to fund two parties, and Eamon had taken care of that as well. Horses and supplies enough to get Alistair to the Brecilian forest and Kahrin to Denerim.

 

Leliana and Rory worked over the horses, checking their legs and hooves carefully. “We will take good care of him while we are away. Do not fear,” Leliana reassured her, a glint in her clear blue eyes. She lead the horse around to ensure she wasn’t inflating her barrel, making the saddle too loose. She smiled at Kahrin, who was fastening packs to their horses.

 

Kahrin’s lips turned up in a tight grin. “He’s perfectly capable. You all are. I trust you.” Glancing over her shoulder at Alistair, she added, “I trust you. You can do this.”

 

“This is like a mantra with you now,” he answered her softly, taking her hand and brushing her fingers against his lips. She was making a deliberate effort to not be overwhelmed with his suddenly open displays of affection. “It’s always good to hear, though.” 

 

Morrigan ran her fingers over the muzzle of her horse. It had taken Kahrin a bit of the morning to convince her that the horse was more practical than having them followed by a bear or a cat or whatever animal she wanted to travel as.

 

“You two are making me ill. I shall enjoy the retreat. As will my stomach.”

 

“Yes. Well, as much as I will miss your pithy commentary, I can’t say I’m disappointed either.” Alistair’s brow pulled down.

 

Kahrin elbowed him sharply in the side. “Will it kill you to be nice?”

 

“Maybe. How do I know that it won’t? Better safe than sorry.”

 

“I shall lose so much sleep over it, Alistair. Do try not to be eaten by anything in the forest. T’would be a tragedy.”

 

“I’ll hold on, just for your sake, Morrigan,” he replied dryly.

 

“That’s enough,” Kahrin hissed at him between her teeth. “I don’t know how long it will be. Don’t … spoil this.”

 

He pulled her close with one tug on her arm, shooting Morrigan a glare over Kahrin’s shoulder. Looking down at Kahrin, he lowered his voice for just her. “Be careful. I don’t like you going to Denerim alone. Someone might recognize you.”

 

“Oh, and you are so unrecognizable.” They’d already argued over breakfast about how she was expendable if worse came to worse. He disagreed vehemently with her assessment of the situation. She didn’t want him anywhere near Denerim again now that they knew Loghain was in the Palace and had men working the streets. “We’ve been over this. Plus,” she raised an eyebrow at him cockily. “After a high dragon, I think I can handle a few guards.”

 

“That’s not funny.” His face pulled into a frown. “You are not indestructible.”

 

She blinked, taking his seriousness suddenly to heart. “Alistair … I …” She looked up at him and chewed on her lip. “You be careful too.” The dragon fight had been too close. Far too close.

 

“Could we hurry this up?” Morrigan groused, gesturing. “She loves you, you love her. I shall protect her as if she were myself. We could be halfway to our destinations by the time the two of you finish.” Her mouth pulled into a sideways frown, her well-groomed brow arched high on her head. “We waste time.”

 

Alistair glared at her again. “Go crawl in a bush and die. Thanks.”

 

“You first,” she retorted. 

 

Kahrin rolled her eyes. “We’ll be back here before we know it. This is faster and you know it.”

 

Turning to hug Rory, she whispered into his ear. “Watch out for him. Please.”

 

“Of course, milady. As if he were you. He is to be our king, after all.” She sensed a bit of tension in his voice, but there was no time to discuss it. It was possible she should have discussed the whole … agreement she had just made with Alistair. After all the years she and Rory had known one another, she felt she owed him more than the surprise at breakfast. There was no sense in worrying over it now. She couldn’t take it back.

 

“I need you to bring him back alive,” she murmured. After a moment she realized it wasn’t just practical, either. “For me.”

 

He squeezed her once and let her go. “Have a care in Denerim, then.” He frowned slightly, then nodded.

 

Rory and Leliana mounted up, Kahrin turning to do the same. Alistair shook Sten’s hand, and waited while Zevran mumbled something in his ear, which made him flush. Taking her horse by the saddle Kahrin lifted one foot into the stirrup.

 

“Here,” Alistair said to her, locking his fingers together for her to step into. “Let me help.”

 

The tip of her tongue stuck between her teeth slightly as she grinned at him crookedly. “I can mount a horse, you know. I’ve been riding since I was four.”

 

“I know. You can do anything. Let me have this moment, please?”

 

She blinked at him a few times, then nodded, stepping up into his hands and swinging herself over the saddle. Watching him right himself, tugging on his ear, she grinned down at him. They hadn’t been apart for months, not since they’d met. Even though this new turn of events between them was still new, she’d grown used to his constant presence. The thought of being away from him pained her slightly.

 

“I’ll miss you,” she said quietly, with honesty that startled herself.

 

“And I you,” he told her, reaching up a hand behind her neck. Tugging gently until she leaned over, he poured himself into a kiss tinged with sadness. “I love you.”

 

Letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, she sat up, her heart fluttering slightly. 

 

“I know.” Chewing on her lip she nodded to Sten, Morrigan, and Zevran behind her before turning out the gate.

 

 

 


	25. Disguises

“My dear Warden, usually I find you endlessly amusing, but right now I can not decide if you are having me on.” Zevran crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at Kahrin slightly. She was the only person in the party with whom he could actually look down.

 

“I am _deadly_ serious. I’m not … this is important,” Kahrin told him firmly.

 

They had stopped along the exit of the West Road, not far out from Denerim. It would take them the better part of the afternoon and into the evening to reach their destination. She had traded her far too recognizable armour out for leathers which Leliana had provided both she and Morrigan. Kahrin adjusted her weapons into new positions, and began wrapping the whole of Alistair’s father’s sword with bandages. It was far too recognizable in a place like Denerim. If she had to pull it to fight they had more problems than bandages on the blade.

 

“Still, I would rather not.” He tilted his head at her and tutted at her. “Such a lovely face to mar.”

 

Flexing her fingers in the tight oxblood leather gloves, Kahrin set her jaw firmly and held Zevran’s eyes with her own. 

 

“I’m too recognizable. Fancy leather and sneaking around isn’t going to do us any good if I’m noticed in Denerim. The marquist only tamped this tattoo onto one face.” She gestured vaguely at the tattoo that curved along her cheek and swept up and over her brow. “We need to make it less noticeable.”

 

“And you wish for me to do this by striking you? I think I am going to have to say no, Warden.” He shook his head slightly back and forth.

 

Kahrin sighed in exasperation. “That is exactly what I need you to do. Preferably with your pommel. Hard. Trust me, I’ve had worse. I need it to look believable and to swell. Possibly even bleed a little.” When he lifted his blond eyebrow at her she lifted her own back. “I’m a Grey Warden. It will heal.” As an afterthought, she added, “eventually.”

 

“Why, _bella mia_ , does it need to be me? Could not our friend here do it?” He waved a hand in Sten’s direction. “I am a gentleman, after all.”

 

Kahrin snorted.

 

“First of all, Sten would knock my teeth out.” Sten simply shrugged at this. “I don’t need that good of a disguise. Secondly, I’ll reserve my comments on you being a gentleman.” Pulling out the belt of her Warden armour, she held it up.

 

“I do not think this is the time,” he jested, earning him an eyeroll.

 

“No, I’m going to bite down on it so I don’t crack my teeth. Will you help me?” The edges of her mouth and eyes pulled tightly. She loathed asking him for favors.

 

“Is that trust I see on your face, my dear Warden?”  There was obvious mirth in his voice. “How far we have come to this place. I will do this thing for you, but you have to do something for me in return.”

 

“I’m going to regret this. I know I am going to regret this,” she muttered, not at all trying to lower her voice to not be heard. “All right, _assassin_. Tell me what’s on your mind, and remember that you are treading on _very_ dangerous ground.” Crossing her arms across her breasts she shifted her weight to her rear foot, the leather creaking softly.

 

“Ahh. How could my ribs forget?” Zevran locked his fingers behind his head and leaned back against his horse. The equine seemed non-fussed by it all. “If I am to hurt such a lovely face, I think I should get to kiss it first.”

 

Rolling her eyes again, Kahrin tilted her head towards him just slightly. “Right. Well, my days of taking you seriously are certainly coming to a middle. Just hit me already.”

 

“Tut, tut. Kiss first, my dear Warden.” He lifted his shoulders slightly and let them drop. His face spread into a smile that seemed to hold a secret.

 

“You are serious? You can not be serious.”

 

He splayed his hands out in front of himself. “Oh, I am very serious. There are few things in life which I take very seriously. The kiss of a beautiful woman happens to be one of them.”

 

“Stop that,” she snapped.

 

His mouth curled up further on one side. “Stop what, my lovely Warden?” There was nearly a hint of mocking in his tone.

 

“That. The …” She waved a hand around wildly. “The flirting.”

 

“Does it bother you? I do so like to see you get worked up. How is it this one thing can be the chink in the armour of one so fierce? Hmm?”

 

Her lips pressed into a firm line as she glared at him incredulously. “It’s not … I don’t … I’m _engaged_ , Zevran.”

 

“What does that matter?” He shrugged and lifted his hands palm-up. There was amusement in his eyes. He was _enjoying_ this. “I am not asking to come to your bed. Do you think that after all of this time I would do something to damage what you have with our dear Alistair? Especially while he is so far away from us?”

 

“I …” She blinked at him, eyes a bit wide and her mouth hanging slightly open. “I guess … well no.” That was one thing she could say for sure — Zevran was not in the business of destroying their tiny sliver of happiness. He’d been honest and had made that clear. Alistair actually got along with him despite his early protestations. They seemed to have a better understanding of one another than she did with the former Crow. 

 

She had a _tiny_ problem with people who tried to kill her.

 

“You still do not trust me.” He wasn’t asking. He was remarkably observant, she couldn’t deny that.

 

“It’s not that. I just don’t …”

 

“You do not trust me. That is all right, my Warden. I would not trust me either, were I you. I hope to one day earn it, though. You might say that my life depends on it.” He was still half-grinning at her with one eye crinkled up, and she couldn’t tell if he was making fun of her or trying to put her at ease.

 

Shuffling from foot to foot she absently began twisting a bit of hair around her hand. “No,” she admitted almost too quietly to hear.

 

“And yet you want me to do this thing. You want me to strike you hard enough to leave a mark.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Though you do not trust me.”

 

She grunted exasperatedly. “I already said as much.”

 

“Then, _bella mia_ , why? Why ask me to do this?”

 

“Because …” She stopped, and for a moment considered dropping the whole thing and simply covering her face in bandages, or actually asking Sten to do it. “I thought you’d want to.”

 

“Because you did it to me.”

 

 _No_. “Yes.”

 

He laughed. Deep from his belly he let out a roar of laughter, tossing his head back. “Oh, _tesoro_. I would have done the same thing were it I in your shoes. I do not fault you for this thing. I do, however, wish to move past this mistrust you seem to have of me. I have sworn my allegiance to you, did I not? That is not a thing I give lightly.”

 

Kahrin’s boots were very fascinating as she avoided his eyes. “You did. I guess I thought … you were just …” She shrugged and made a non-committal noise.

 

“Trying to get closer to you so that I might finish what I have started.”

 

She nodded, making a strained smile. Staying quiet for a few moments, she finally unwound her hair from her hand. “What does that mean? What you said just now.”

 

He grinned again. “It means _treasure_ , my Warden.”

 

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think—“

 

He raised his hands in front of him defensively. “Now now. Do not get worked up. You think there is only one way in which I could possibly be interested in you?” He tsked at her. “You are promised to another, one who treasures you so. I, on the other hand, would like to find something precious with you, also. I wish only to gain your friendship, and your trust.”

 

“Oh.” She looked genuinely confused for a few moments. “Look, Zevran, I’m … I might have … I—“

 

He laughed a big more quietly now. “It is quite all right. I forgive you.”

 

Kahrin regarded him for a long time, her face conflicted. She stepped forward, then back, then closed the three steps to him. Leaning up, she brushed her lips against his cheek quickly before pulling away.

 

“See how easy it is for us to come to compromises, dear Warden? Now,” he chuckled, patting his cheek lightly. “Now, I think we have some business to take care of, do we not?”

 

Nodding, she held her belt in both hands. “Do it hard. I’d really rather not have to do this twice.” She placed the belt between her teeth, bracing herself as he pulled out his dagger.

 

“Do not fret, my lovely Warden. We will not have to do this more than once.” He smirked slightly, then added, “unless you really want to.”

 

He pulled back his arm back, then stepped his weight into it and swung hard.


	26. Mistrust

Alistair looked down at Barkspawn while she made a valiant attempt at waking the dead with her barking. He’d never seen her act this way, not even against the darkspawn. Highly agitated and her hackles raised, she growled at Zathrian. 

 

“Get your dog under control, Warden,” the Keeper snapped.

 

“Right. Yes. I’m sorry about that.” Grabbing the war harness tightly in one hand, he looked up at Zathrian’s glare.

 

 _So bizarre_ , he thought to himself. Usually she was the most even-tempered dog, but there was something about Zathrian that kept her riled.

 

It didn’t feel right, doing this without Kahrin. She was so much better with people that he was. She would have found a way to laugh it off, and then the Keeper would have her into his landship for tea or something.

 

Maker, he missed her.

 

Pulling his face more sternly, he followed along after Zathrian as he showed him around the camp. The state of the elves was dire indeed. Rows and rows of cots laid out in the the open, and the wails of the sick distracting enough that it made it difficult to really hear what Zathrian was saying to him.

 

“So, you see, we are in no position to help you.” He said that, but he didn’t seem to mean it, not with any facial expression that Alistair could see.

 

“You’re obligated to honor the treaty,” he argued. It felt futile as soon as he said it.

 

“Perhaps,” Zathrian said, folding his hands. “We signed those treaties long ago. We had no way of knowing what hardships we would face. The Blight is nothing new to us, nor is it news. I’ve felt its corruption for a while now, poisoning the land.”

 

“I’m going to regret this.” Alistair rubbed his temples with his finger and thumb and sighed heavily. Barkspawn yanked on her harness again, whimpering and trying to get closer to the sick warriors. He yanked her back abruptly, ordering her to sit. If she was bonded to him, like Kahrin had told him, why did she listen to Kahrin better than him? “I don’t suppose there is anything that I can do to help you, so that you might, you know, help us?” _Like you are sworn to do_ , he added angrily in his own mind.

 

Zathrian eyed him suspiciously for several minutes before gesturing for their group to follow him again.

 

“Tread carefully,” Leliana whispered to him, holding his arm to keep him a few steps behind. “There are still arrows trained on us. They do not think we notice.”

 

“I figured as much,” he whispered back, nodding his head slightly. “They don’t trust us.”

 

Glancing around, she murmured, “I don’t know that we should trust them, either.”

 

Alistair looked at her, a blond eyebrow raised. He wanted to argue, tell her that there were a dozen or more reasons for them not to trust humans, but the words died on his lips. There were plenty of reasons for mistrust on both sides.

 

There was something evasive in the way that Zathrian avoided outright answering their questions. Nothing he said necessarily sounded wrong, but there was something no quite right about it either.

 

A creepy magical curse. Why not? He was hardly surprised by anything that happened anymore. In fact things like this seemed run of the mill lately. When something _good_ happened, that was when things surprised him. Becoming recently engaged shocked him. Finding clean smalls in his pack might really throw him. But this? No. Not in the least bit alarming.

 

“Werewolves are not unheard of in Ferelden,” Rory piped up with a certain authority from behind. He’d hardly spoken most of the trip. “In fact they used to run wild over a good portion of the country.”

 

“I have heard of them, wolves who are bound to a spirit,” the Keeper said, his voice more controlled. “These are not the same. This is a curse. Magic. It rages through the victims like a disease. It makes them mindless and savage. Look what they’ve done to my people.” The heat of anger rose through him with each word.

 

Taking a deep breath, his head swimming with all this talk of magic and spirits and werewolves, Alistair held up the hand not currently in a death grip on Barkspawn’s harness. “What can we do to help?”

 

“I can not ask you to go into the forest.” Zathrian told him. 

 

“Yet, I bet you are going to do just that.” He was thick, but not that thick.

 

Narrowing his eyes for just a few moments, Zathrian continued. “You want to look for the white wolves. More specifically one name Witherfang. If you bring me the heart of Witherfang, I may be able to end the curse.”

 

Of course. Nothing creepy or weird about using the heart of some animal to break some creepy curse. This whole thing was getting more and more odd. Next he was going to tell him he had to strip naked and do the Remingold under the moon painted in virgin blood.

 

Probably a good thing that didn’t apply to him any longer, so his blood would be safe.

 

He coughed, trying to get that thought out of his mind. He was supposed to be representing the Grey Wardens. That required his serious face, which he pulled his features into. No need to anger the nice mage.

 

“Right.” Pausing, he glanced to the other two, who both subtly nodded their ascension. “And if we bring this to you, you’ll honor the treaty.” His negotiating lessons were paying off, he thought to himself a tad smugly.

 

“Bring me Witherfang’s heart. If I can cure this curse, then our able warriors may be able to assist you.” 

 

That was possibly the most noncommittal answer he’d ever heard.

 

“Well, it sounds like we have a lot of work ahead of us. I guess we should get going.” Anything to be further away from Zathrian. 

 

“Be safe,” Zathrian said with finality. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to attend to my people.”

 

Watching him cross the camp, Alistair turned to Leliana. “Is it just me, or did it suddenly get warmer here?”

 

“Alistair,” she chided softly. “We are outsiders. They are right to be suspicious.” 

 

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s not them. It’s him. I have this odd feeling that he isn’t telling us everything.” Barkspawn continued to bristle as Zathrian walked away, then finally calmed considerably.

 

“Alistair,” Rory asked approached him. “It is late in the day. Should we camp here and get a start early in the morning?”

 

That was a good question. As their leader, he supposed he was pretty sure that meant he was meant to have a plan. Rory and Leliana both looked at him expectantly. He’d gotten past the idea that they were going to help him with decision making the second day on the road. Something about Kahrin promising dreadful things if they didn’t make him lead. Leliana had worn her serious face, so he believed her.

 

“Ah, well. I think…” _That I want to be as far from here as possible. That we might be safer in the woods than here. That I really don’t want to talk to the Keeper again_. He pursed his lips for several moments. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to camp here for the night. Let the Dalish stand watch for us, and everyone get a good night’s rest.” 

 

Barkspawn would keep watch for any trouble from their hosts. She seemed extra jumpy, so he didn’t think anything was going to get past her.

 

“Good. I’ll set up our tents,” Rory said, turning to find a place. 

 

“Make it near the edge, by the watch. For convenience.” Or for spying, just in case they aren’t telling us everything. Which they’re not.

 

“Of course.” It was good enough for him.

 

“Let us go and speak to their craftsman, Alistair. Perhaps we can resupply before it gets dark. The Dalish tell wonderful stories. You may enjoy listening to them.” She gestured to the fire where several children were sitting about, enraptured in whatever the man was saying to them. 

 

He stared into the fire for several minutes, missing Kahrin, and the comfort that she always gave him that she trusted he was doing the right thing. She had been so sure that he could handle this. What would she do?

 

She would try to earn their trust by showing interest and respecting their ways.

 

“I think I’d like that,” he told Leliana quietly.

 

“You’re doing fine, you know,” she reassured him. “She’d have been proud of you today.”

 

Trying in vain to not blush. “How’d you know?”

 

She giggled softly. “You get that look in your eyes when you think of her. I wagered a guess as to the rest.”

 

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I needed to hear that. Let’s go see about those supplies. Do you think they have any cheese?” he asks with a crooked smile.

 

“It never hurts to ask.”

 


	27. Incognito

“What’s this?” Kahrin looked at the phial in her hand. Small glass bottles had the potential to change her life. She’d known that for several years now, and didn’t take chances with them.

 

“It is perhaps better that you do not know.” Zevran’s smile told her that there was a lot of truth in this statement. “Let us call it Zevran’s Insurance. I believe we can leave it at that, yes? The important thing is that we must mix it with something, hmm?” He pulled two large bottles of wine from his pack.

 

“I don’t think I understand,” Kahrin said slowly. She pulled the stopper on the bottle. 

 

“Tut tut,” Zevran curled his fingers around the small vial. “Waft it. Do not inhale it. Also, do not drink it. You will taste nothing sweeter but you will remember nothing.” He took out two large goblets and pulled the cork from one of the wine bottles. Pouring generous portions into each glass, he set the bottle down. “Not too much, and you do not want to mix these up.” 

 

Kahrin watched as he poured a liberal dram of whatever was in the phial into the partially emptied wine bottle. With careful aim he poured one of the goblets of wine back in, then most of the other, drinking the final dregs. Tilting her head to the side, she raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to fill me in on the plan?”

 

The smirk of mischief crawled across his face. “Unless I have misread you, _bella mia_ , you do not intend to actually bed your … ah, shall we say patrons. This is just a little bit of assurance that you will not need to. This way, you will be able to loose their tongues, ply them for information, if you will, and our dear Alistair shall not have an apoplexy when we all meet up again.”

 

“So, I what? Get them to drink heavily and—“

 

“No no,” he protested gently. “You will not need much. Perhaps a glass. Maybe less depending on the size of the fellow you will likely entice. He will come to in a few hours, and then you simply convince him that he fell soundly asleep after he received your, undoubtably skilled, services. Perhaps we could even charge him extra for the extended time, yes?

 

“You think that will work?” She was already uncomfortable with the arrangement that Zevran had brokered between them and Sanga, but she had to admit that it was a good plan. So long as his insurance panned out.

 

“I do. How is it you think I have been so successful?”

 

“You know, I might not be the best judge of your supposed success as an assassin,” she said wryly. The begrudging trust was warming between them, once they had smoothed over the awkwardness. 

 

“Ah, you make a fair point, my Warden.” There was a hint of humor in his voice, almost teasing. “It will also give us a chance to go through his pockets, will it not? Waste not, want not, I say.” He laughed from his belly, then crossed his arms. “Important people often carry important things. Ahh, being back in the thick of this makes me long for Antiva. I do so love a good intrigue.”

 

“Funny how your intrigues mean that I’m the one who has to put on the performance.” She lifted an eyebrow at him.

 

He tsk’d at her again. “Now, now. We have been over this. The surly and taciturn fellow who hired me still lives in this city. It would not do much good to have his minions identify me from my time in the Palace.”

 

Kahrin bristled at the thought thought of Loghain. The description that Zevran gave her also indicated that Rendon was with him. _How convenient_ , she thought. Everyone she wanted dead all in one place. Had she indeed come to the city on her own, she might have done something hasty, such as trying to get an audience with the new regent just to get closer.

 

Zevran had talked her out of that one, also.

 

“Fair enough. Where are you going to be while I’m … working?” Sanga had, in exchange for their help in ridding her of some unwashed miscreants, agreed to help them with their covert needs. Kahrin was appalled at the idea initially, until both Zevran and Sanga had explained the benefits. The number of self-entitled and reasonably important people who came in and hassled her employees was not few. She agreed to weed the best prospects out and send them her way.

 

“I shall be in the bathtub, of course, whiling my time away with the lovely Morrigan,” he reassured her. “Should the situation become dire, we will be here to stage a dramatic rescue.”

 

“Fine.” She eyed the wine bottles nervously.

 

“Also, here,” he said to her, handing her a small, wrapped parcel.

 

“What is this?”

 

“Your disguise.”

 

She carefully opened it, and a _very_ thin robe fell from it. Her eyes widened considerably as she caught it and looked back up at him. “You must be joking.”

 

“I am not.”

 

“I can not wear this.” Her eyebrow took on a life of its own as it tried to climb off of her forehead. “You can see through it. Look at the trim. There are little ribbon bows on it.”

 

Zevran smirked at her. “You shall have them eating out of your hands, _bella mia_.”

 

She held the robe out in front of her as if it might attack at any moment. “I don’t think my hands are going to be what they are paying attention to.”

 

“Then they shall not see you liberate their purses from their persons.”

 

She shot him a look, her mouth pressed into a thin line, then clenched her eyes shut in resignation. “Fine.”

 

“It will detract further from your fabulously bruised face.” He made a sad face for a moment. “Unfortunately I do not believe that part of your costume shall be out of character, either.”

 

“No,” she said quietly. “Sanga told me as much.” Apparently there were more than a few patrons who enjoyed roughing up the elves. Sanga had pointed out that her size would be a selling point in her favor due to that. Kahrin couldn’t help but feel like she was being appraised at market day. “Turn around,” she ordered through her clenched teeth. “In fact, don’t come out unless I yell for you.” 

 

Without waiting for an answer she started peeling off her leather armour, tucking it away in the small trunk near the small dressing table that came with the room. Somewhere, her mother’s spirit was rolling over in the Fade. This was certainly nothing all of her Proper Lady training had ever prepared her for.

 

She left her smalls on. If she had to sit down she wasn’t sure she could do it with a bare bottom. Unfortunately that was all she had between herself and the fabric that left her feeling naked. Seemed wasteful to use all of that fancy fabric if it didn’t even keep her warm. She chanced a look at herself in the looking glass and felt her face flush. She’d been unclothed before. Plenty of times, and in all actuality she didn’t dislike it. She’d been naked with men before. She’d been very recently naked with Alistair — something which she still had trouble believing. This was the first time she felt _exposed_. The marks and scars of battle rested lightly on her, angry silver and puckered skin that stood out against her dusky complexion. The bruise over her tattoo was fresh and swollen, making her one eye nearly closed.

 

 _Right. Kahrin, this is just … another battle. It’s you or them, and it’s not going to be them_. Even as she said it, she was unconvinced. There were so many ways this could go wrong.

 

The knock at the door nearly made her jump out of the filmy robe. She pulled the tie a little more tightly and turned around.

 

“Brigid,” the voice on the other side addressed her with the agreed-upon name. “You have a guest.”

 

A guest. That was one way to put it.

 

“Come in,” she said as she walked past the bathtub and pulled the curtain around, keeping her back to Zevran and Morrigan inside it. Standing in front of the door, she lowered her face to look at the floor as it opened. The boots stopped a few steps away from her.

 

“Ah,” the voice was startlingly familiar. “Very nice. Thank you, Sanga. This will do nicely.”

 

The door clicked shut.

 

Keeping her face turned down, Kahrin lifted only her eyes up through her lashes and met slate-grey eyes. She bit the inside of her mouth to keep from sucking in a breath of surprise, and harder to keep from lunging at him and wringing his neck.

 

“M-my lord,” she stammered. _Dammit_. She needed to remember not to sound so educated. Bluffing was not her strongest suit.

 

“Such manners,” the man said with a low and slightly gravelly voice, sliding an arm around her waist. “You may call me Thomas. I have a feeling we are going to be very familiar very soon.”


	28. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning here for violence, blood, and a grabby-handed douche. I don't think it is questionable enough to call dubcon, because there is no actual sex act. Still it is creepy enough that I don't want to make any readers uncomfortable. Read with caution.

Kahrin kept her eyes trained on the boots in front of her. She would have thought she'd be filled with rage, but instead a chill of panic ran up her spine, tingling her scalp before returning to pool in her stomach. Oddly, the feeling wasn't one she hated. It twisted with anger at hearing his voice and gave her the urge to wring his neck. This wasn't how she had imagined meeting him again. She thought she'd be armed, or that they'd happen upon one another while _fully clothed_. Unsure what they would talk about, it was probably best that he didn't seem to recognize her right away.

Thomas gripped her chin and attempted to turn her face up to his. "It is all right to look at me."

Kahrin took a quick and quiet breath. "If it pleases my lord," she mumbled, grateful for her foresight to cover her tattoo. Turning her chin away from his grip she crossed the small room to the table. She uncorked the spiked wine, pouring a generous portion for Thomas. About to hand him the cup, she tensed when she felt his hands brush her hair aside.

"You're not an elf at all," he breathed, skimming his lips over the round edge of her ear. His breath could have taken out a bronto, and the smell of spirits and his proximity made her want to retch. He moved his mouth from her ear down her jaw and into the curve of her neck.

"Does my lord prefer elves?" Maker take her for not working out a plan in case something like this happened. "Perhaps my mistress could find something that pleases you."

"Oh, I think you will please me just fine." His words were hot in her ear again, wrapping one arm across her chest and holding her back against himself. "Very much."

Kahrin drew in a deep breath slowly through her nose, then let it out. The urge to twist around and break his traitorous neck was strong, but her will to not let him find out who she was stronger. If she could get him to talk about Rendon, to help her figure out where he was, she could take care of that matter right away.

"Perhaps my lord should have a drink." Her fingers shook as she tried to move to hand the glass to him. _Please, please, please take the drink_.

"I didn't come here for a drink," he growled against her ear. "I also recall asking you to use my name. I do not care to ask for things more than once." His free hand gripped her hip tightly, digging his fingers in. "Say. My. Name."

Another deep breath. How far was she supposed to let this go? They had a plan to not allow it to go too far, but what was too far? If he wasn't going to drink the drugged wine she was in trouble. They hadn't planned for this, they hadn't planned on Thomas. There wasn't even room to hide a dagger under the ridiculous robe Zevran had bought her. So vulnerable. So exposed. There was one under the mattress, but that was supposed to be a last resort. The plan wasn't supposed to involve being on the bed at the same time as the client — so to speak.

"Yes, Thomas."

"Lord Howe," he ordered between kisses along her neck. His fingers slipped under the collar of the robe and pulled it slightly aside. "I'm to be the Arl of Amaranthine, you know."

She bristled. "To be, my lord Howe?" _Good, good_. This was what she was here for. In part.

"Once my father is formally recognized as Teyrn of Highever. It's only a formality. He's already holding the land after the traitors were put down." He gathered the fabric covering her thigh and drew it up her leg. "I like this." Brushing his fingers down her arm until he reached her hand, he took the cup from her and set it on the table.

She clenched her teeth and stepped out of his arms, but Thomas yanked her back sharply. He turned her around to facing him, gripping both of her upper arms. One finger lifted her chin as he leaned toward her, and their eyes finally met.

Thomas blinked once in confusion, his eyes searching over the bruised side of her face. As realization crawled over his features, his eyes widened.

_Shit_.

"Kahrin?" His grip on her arms tightened. "What are you _doing_ here?" One hand gripped a fistful of her hair near the scalp, jerking her face higher towards him. "We've been looking for you."

"I bet you have," she growled. Her head reared back into his hand, then slammed forward. Forehead against nose made a satisfying _crack_.

His fingers released her hair and clutched his face. " _Shit_ , Kahrin," he bellowed. His fist swung out, connecting with her other, non-bruised eye.

Kahrin staggered back a step with a sharp cry, catching the post of the bed to regain her balance. Thomas stepped forward, pulling back for another punch. Kahrin scrambled to get on top of the bed and out of his reach.

"Tsk tsk. I do not think so, my friend." Zevran's voice was low and threatening, despite his choice of words. The elf caught Thomas' fist in his hands.

Thomas' head whipped about, startled. He turned back, glaring at Kahrin as the reality of the situation slowly clicked into place. "Stay out of this, knife-ear. Her life is forfeit as a traitor, and I've paid for her besides."

"Mmm. I think that may still be a matter of opinion." Zevran twisted Thomas' arm around behind him, cranking his wrist upward sharply until the man yelped.

"Took you long enough to get out here," Kahrin said, reaching under the mattress and pulling out the knife. She climbed shakily back off the bed, her robe falling open.

"Ah, _bella mia_ , it seemed you had it all under control. I just did not want to miss all the fun." His eyes danced back and forth dangerously. _He really does enjoy his work_ , she thought with a helpless hint of amusement.

She shot him a look as she retied her robe, for all the good it did her. The fabric was incredibly sheer and hardly suitable to be called clothing. Her chest rose with a deep breath as she steeled herself. "Give me one good reason not to slit your cursed throat, _Lord Howe_."

"You wouldn't _dare_ ," he spat, struggling against Zevran's grip. "My father—"

"Your father." She cut him off with a snort. "You already said he wants me dead. He tried to kill us to the last. I should take it out on each and every one of you. If he wants me dead so badly, he's welcome to wait in line. Trust me, it's a long one."

"Your parents were traitors! They were conspiring with Orlesians!"

Her mouth dropped open and she twitched forward towards him, stopping herself, but barely. The desire burned in her to draw the blade across his neck and feel the warm life flow out of him. "You know that to be a lie. We were friends. Our _families_ were friends. Thomas, we were betrothed!"

Thomas laughed bitterly. "For all the good it did. _Betrothed_. What a farce."

He kicked back against Zevran's leg with a shout, knocking it out from beneath him. Pulling his arm mostly free, he threw his shoulder against Kahrin. She fell back a step and caught her footing, using the wall to brace herself. Her reflexes were better than they had been before the Wardens. Balance regained, she lunged.

Trained by his father, Thomas backed up enough to absorb the impact, taking them both to the ground with a grunt and a thud. He flipped them over backward, knocking a chair out of their way, grappling for her wrist and the knife in her hand. He twisted the blade around, turning the point towards her and yanking to free it. Kahrin bucked her hips against his weight with a feral sound, attempting to wiggle free. The blade slid over her palm and sliced it deep while she tried to keep control of it. The pain flared up through her arm and she screamed against it.

The moment the blood spilled her veins burned. The part of her senses that responded to the Taint in her lit up and _sang_ with power. Her elbow swiftly connected with his face and she shouldered against him, making enough space to scuttle backward. When shoulders hit the door behind her, she groped for the handle to pull herself up to standing, wavering slightly. The quick loss of blood made her a touch woozy and she blinked away blurry vision. Thomas panted, crawling forward and grabbing her ankle. He yanked her back towards him, a snarl caught in the back of his throat. She fell to one knee with a loud thud, hitting her head on the door. Gripping the handle of the blade with both blood-slicked hands, she nearly dropped it. With a guttural scream, she shoved it forward over her head towards his chest.

Before the knife could even connect, Thomas' eyes widened and he slumped forward against her. The knife knocked from her hand as his weight pinned her against the door.

Kahrin drew ragged breaths, her eyes full of tears while she tried to make sense of what had just happened. His death rattles gurgled against her ear.

"I'm sorry, Thomas," she whimpered, pushing against him. "I am."

"Yeah," he choked over the words slightly, "well you … and my brother … certainly deserve one … another." Life trickled slowly from him as the words trailed off. She looked up at Zevran standing behind him, her eyes grateful.

"Thank you." Her chest heaved under the limp weight of Thomas while she closed her eyes to stop the room spinning.

Zevran pulled his own knife free from Thomas' ribs. "It is no easy thing to take a life, my Warden." He grabbed Thomas under the arms and dragged him off of her, dumping him to the floor like he was little better than slop for swine. Pulling a handkerchief from his belt he handed it to her.

Using her teeth to pull the cloth tightly around her hand, she nodded. "I've killed people before, Zevran," she said, her voice still shaking. "I'm going to kill more before this is all over."

"Ah, but you have not killed so familiar a face. That is a fish of a different colour." He crouched beside her, pulling her into a hug.

Kahrin slumped against him, shaking from nerves for several still-hammering heartbeats. It took a great deal of effort to not swoon over.

"Zevran?"

"Yes, _bella mia_?"

"I'd like to get dressed now." Her robe wasn't going to be usable again, and it was just as well. Being a common woman was not for her. She didn't have the fortitude.

He laughed from his belly. "Ah, but you look the lovely goddess of death, and are turning out to be quite the accomplished assassin."

She wiped tears away with her uninjured hand, letting out a bark of inappropriate laughter. "Even so, Zevran. Even so."

The pounding on the door startled her and she yelped. Clapping her wounded hand over her mouth, she let Zevran help her to her feet.

Covering herself the best she could, Kahrin opened the door just enough to peek out her face. She leaned her weight against the frame. The swarthy woman on the other side of the door gave her a broad smile, though her eyes were full of concern.

"Everything all right in here, kitten?"

Kahrin worked her jaw, scrambling for a lie. Of course someone would have heard the scuffle. There was certainly enough commotion to call guards, but she didn't recognize this one.

"Yes, ser," she said meekly.

"Really?" One hand pushed the door open. "Zevran. I should have known I'd find you neck deep in trouble at the first brothel past the city gates." The tall woman didn't _walk_ in so much as she _sauntered_ , assessing the scene with something akin to amusement on her face. She crossed her arms over her ample chest.

Shoving the door closed, Kahrin leaned against it tiredly. "I didn't mean to … I mean this isn't … it's not what it—"

"Ah, Isabela. Just what this party needs," Zevran greeted her with familiarity and an overly exaggerated bow. The woman shared a private look with the assassin.

Isabela turned back to face Kahrin, her face pulled into a sympathetic smile. "It's all right, kitten." Using a handkerchief of her own, she dabbed Kahrin's split lip gently. "Some people need to die. The real question is what to do about the mess."

Kahrin nodded with sudden understanding. "Clothes, first," she insisted. "I think enough people have seen me starkers for one day."


	29. Inevitable

The stones of the wall were cool against her back as Kahrin leaned all of her weight into them. She turned her chin up at the ceiling and stared at nothing, or perhaps something. She wasn't even sure. It didn't matter, because in just a few days this would either be over, or it would be _over_. She was tired. Exhausted really.  
  
Everyone wanted something from her. For the last year, every place they’d traveled had expected the Grey Wardens were here to help or otherwise lend some sort of aid. At this point, however, Kahrin wasn't sure she had much help left in her to give.  
  
It hadn't all been terrible. Not at all. There had been a great deal which she had come to treasure. Perhaps not the part where they were running for their lives, sleeping on the cold ground in tents, nearly dying, crying over the nearly dying, being hungry, being dirty, or worst, being cold, dirty, and hungry all at once. She even preferred killing darkspawn to that last one, and would take an Archie dream to being wet on top of all of them.  
  
She wanted it to be _over_.  
  
But first, she had to take care of a few more things. The cold world was not done having its way with her.  
  
The first dilemma on what was sure to be a very long list of tasks ahead of her before she could finally rest lie behind the door to her right. She heaved a heavy sigh, thinking back on the very pleasant chat she'd had with Anora earlier this day. The Queen had a way of plying words to not sound deliberately condescending, but her tone always dripped with the implication of her superiority. Somewhere in the cacophony of her not-quite-veiled insults, Kahrin had come to a moment of clarity that unfolded into realization.  
  
She didn't belong here.  
  
Maybe, _just maybe_ , he didn't either. It was too late now, however. She had come this far, and she’d be damned to the Void if she wasn't going to see this through.  
  
She took a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair, her damnable hair that even now she could feel being pulled lightly by callused fingers as she dozed slightly, settling after a particularly nasty dream in camp night after night. Hair that she was now tempted to cut off at the nape so she didn't have to think about it any longer.  
  
Cracking the door just enough, she slipped inside nearly silently, but he didn't hear her, lost in the full concentration of his templar exercises. Morning and night, his routine. Day after day, waking her early and pulling her to practice with him, teaching her more patiently than anyone had any right to be with someone of her particular lack of equanimity until the day she had finally gotten it, that it had clicked for her. Then everything _after_ had happened, and she'd been thrown off of her balance. She'd balked and withdrew and refused, unsure where she stood in the world because suddenly she wanted more from her friend, and it was _mutual_. It was not, however, something she had to give.  
  
And yet, even as Eamon made designs on his adopted son’s future, she promised to be there for him. As they sat by the fire night after night, memorizing the names of all the important nobles and proper etiquette, forms of address and how to tell a joke from an insult, she resolved to never leave him alone to do this, even though she knew he could do it. Even though part of her didn't want to, she'd do it for him, because he asked her to, and because she … did indeed _love_ him, even if she had never managed to say it.  
  
He knew. She was certain that he did.  
  
So, now, she moved to his side again, the same as they fought. As they made every decision save few, she fell into the slow patterns of the stretching, following his lead, the long, slow lines of her limbs through the air in front of her. They passed slowly through each form, feeling muscle and bone and sinew move together with the memory, knowing where her swords fit with each form, moving  from one into the next and mirroring the way their friendship had progressed. Fluidly.  
  
Then, as she pivoted on opposite heel and toe to the left, he turned right and slid arms around her waist, drawing her to him. She leaned her head against his chest, refusing to meet his eyes, and he leaned down and spoke into her hair with soft words.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Kahrin slid her arms around his waist. “For what?”  
  
“Believing in me. Being here for me. Tomorrow.” Alistair paused, the silence even heavier on her heart than hers. “Maker, I’m so nervous. But... I know that you believe I can do this, so that must mean something, right?” He slid his hands down her back and was quiet for several long heartbeats she could count in his chest. “It makes me feel better to know I don't have to do it alone.”  
  
The words stung her worse than any emissary spell. Worse than the pain of arrows through her chest in battle. Than being squeezed by a broodmother. Just knowing what she had to do made her very chest clench with guilt. If she told him now, however, he'd try to talk her out of it, or _worse_ ; he might ruin everything by refusing to do his duty.  
  
“Of course you're not alone.” She pulled her face into a passibly encouraging expression with which she could look up at him. She was, after all, the master in this particular lesson, and he the pupil. “Never.”  
  
That first, and hardest lie told, Kahrin pulled his face down and kissed him slowly, afraid she was losing her nerve. If she misstepped then even he would see through the ruse.  
  
Then again, perhaps not. This was Alistair. Sometimes he saw what he wanted to see.  
  
He backed up slowly and sat down on the bed, pulling her into his lap as he spoke in low tones, resting his mouth lightly against the side of her head. “That means the world to me, my love.” She cringed, then, despite herself, cursing herself inwardly at the possible tell she’d given. It was no matter, she finally decided: after all, she sometimes still did that, right? She couldn't remember when she'd stopped being opposed to his endearments, or when she'd begun returning the feelings which inspired them. Either way, she shifted in his lap to mask the reflex, listening to him as he continued. “These people don't know me. I'm no king. Not to them. Not to anyone, and you still think I can do it.” He drew his fingers through her hair slowly and absently in thought, continuing to hold her to him.  
  
“Alistair, after tomorrow things …” She took another breath, wishing he'd stop playing with her damned hair because she didn’t deserve it, or any of this. Not right now, and perhaps she never had. “Alistair, this might be the last chance we have for …” Kahrin trailed off then once more, losing her train of thought. Words were going to betray her, she was certain.  
  
She pulled his arms around her and pushed up on her knees to get to his jaw. In reply, he pulled back for a moment and looked her in the face for a few moments, slight confusion in his arched eyebrow. “Yeeessss?”  
  
The truth pulled at her. No more secrets. They'd promised back in Redcliffe and they had come so far, literally and emotionally, since then. Instead, she did what she’d done so many times in battle, and what had always managed to save her life. Evasion. Deflection. Anything but this. She grabbed his chin in her hand and shook it back and forth slightly, giving him her best practiced smiles. “Shhh. No more talking. Just, be with me right now.”  
  
That earned a grin across his face that killed her softly inside. “Your desire is my command.”  
  
Either she pulled him to her or he pressed himself to her; she didn't know. She tried to keep her mind elsewhere. On something else. Happier times, any other moments that weren't threatening to spill tears from her eyes as she wrapped her feet around the backs of his legs. Every touch and every thrust was another painful burn of her inevitable betrayal. She knew there were words whispered into her ears, but she didn't want to hear them. She didn't _deserve_ to hear them.   
  
Right now, in this time, he felt loved and sure of her, and she needed him to feel that. Years from now, she hoped he would look back on this with perhaps a shred of forgiveness and perhaps fondness. She knew she would loathe herself until she died.  
  
However far off that would be.  
  
The strangled groan left his throat as she felt her own release, hating every tingle that curled every toe, and every strand of her hair twined around his gripping, shaking fingers.  
  
Kahrin caught his mouth with hers. “It's going to be all right, I promise.” She slid her leg between his, rolling away from him and nestling her back against his chest. The warmth and closeness as her heart pounded against her ribs made her feel ever more the cold and undeserving person she was.  
  
It's for the best, she thought. It's best for both of us. For the country.  
  
“Do you really think I can do this?” He trailed fingers across the skin of her stomach, lightly, and she felt the phantom path of where they'd been sear her with gooseflesh. Every touch disgusted her because she was a vile person. She destroyed everything in her path, and now she was going to do it to him too.  
  
“Do you want to? What if they ask my opinion? Anora thinks they might,” she asked softly, and the name from her own mouth put her dangerously close to taking it all back. To sucking it up and pushing on like she'd promised.  
  
The voice that came back was strong, confident, and unlike anything she’d ever heard from him before. “I'm ready. Pick me.”   
  
The lessons had worked, it seemed. There would be a Theirin on the throne once more. And even though she had already made up her mind, already stubbornly decided for both of them, her heart sank slightly as he turned down the last out she had within her to offer. “Well,” she answered before falling into what she knew in her heart would be the last night of _them._ “Then I suppose you have your answer.”

 


	30. Bait and Switch

The yelling in the room echoed off of the walls. The blood still reflected candle and sunlight on the rug. A single droplet of sweat tracked Alistair's nose as he cleaned his sword and sheathed it. The Queen trembled — she had to know it would end like this. Kahrin felt an unexpected pang of empathy. She turned her head away — no one should have to watch their own father cut down.

It was justice. Fair by their laws, and agreed upon by the assembled nobility. Still, it sat uneasily with Kahrin.

The combination of sensations and her lack of sleep the previous night made Kahrin dizzy. She still had marks on her wrists from the hospitality of Fort Drakon. She was beyond exhausted, and had so much left to do. So tired, and so far to go, and so ready to lie down and never get up.

But this part they had won. The Landsmeet voted in their favor. Part of her didn't yet believe it, not even when Anora pushed past her obvious grief, raising her hand regally at the same moment as Arl Eamon his voice.

"Then I believe the manner is settled." Eamon's tone felt inappropriately cold for the fact that a man lie dead on the floor. "Alistair is to be king."

"I never said that. When was that decided?" Alistair sounded panicked.

Kahrin looked at him, a question on her face. Just the night before, just before he dozed off with his nose buried behind her ear, she had given him this out. This chance to say no. To stay with her. She hadn't used quite so many words, but had let it hang between them. She had merely asked him what she should do, should she be asked.

 _Pick me_ , he had said with almost no hesitation. If he had said otherwise, no matter how much she believed he was ready and right to be King, she would have respected it. She would have tried. Her heart had sunk every so slightly, but Kahrin had chosen her path, and effectively, his too.

Anora flicked her eyes, almost imperceptibly, in Kahrin's direction. She inclined her head fractionally in acknowledgment. _I didn't forget_.

Her voice trembled when she spoke. From fatigue, or fear, or the small part of her that desperately wanted to be anywhere else, any _one_ else, she wasn't sure.

"I believe," she started, looking at Alistair, wanting to take everything she said back, "that Alistair means to wed the Queen."

A collective gasp sounded around the chamber. Alistair smiled, closing the two strides between them and taking her hand. "That's right. I— what?"

She refused to wince, refused to let the facade break. She squeezed his hand, perhaps harder than she needed to then pulled hers away. _You have to do this_ … The look on his face when he looked down on her made her feel small. Very small. That was an accomplishment for someone as slight as she already was.

Kahrin moved out of the way, melting into the crowd behind them, removing herself from between the Queen and her soon to be husband. She had known it would be difficult, but she hadn't expected it to hurt as much as it did, to make it difficult to breathe. Her promises broken, she stepped back where even Eamon could not see her as Alistair recovered — beautifully and with all the grace he'd learned — and addressed the assembly.

She slipped from the room before he was finished, Morrigan's eyes catching her as she walked. Leliana caught her arm gently by the elbow. Kahrin looked up at the bard, nodded once, and removed herself from the room.

Tears threatened as she scurried through the maze of hallways, finding the first unoccupied room. She leaned against the door once inside, pushing it closed. Once she felt the latch catch, Kahrin covered her face with gloved hands, and let the tears flow.

She cried until she couldn't any longer. She wasn't sure how long it had been, but by the time the knock startled her, her face was no longer warm and swollen.

"Kahrin."

She cringed. The familiar voice, a guidepost through everything they had experienced in the past year, from beginning to present, twisted her gut until she wasn't sure she could physically open the door.

"Come in," she murmured then stepped away from the door. She kept her back toward where she could feel him move. That odd sensation that kept her ever aware of his proximity, what separated him from the other companions they'd accumulated over time.

"I wanted to talk to you."

She nodded, but didn't speak, not trusting her voice.

"Kahrin," he started, his voice low enough to be swallowed by the fire. "I don't understand—"

"Don't," she choked.

"I have to. I have understand what just happened out there."

"I can't. I can't talk about it right now." Her voice quavered. "If I do, I will lose my resolve."

"Your resolve? You … you said you would … marry me."

She swallowed, begging herself not to cry again. "I know."

"And I love you." Confusion laced his words, as if trying to put a puzzle together.

"I _know_."

She felt him move closer, and matched it, keeping the space even.

"Don't you love me?"

Her jaw moved. She wanted to say something, anything. "I can't … I can't be queen."

"Of course you can. You can do anything …" He paused, realisation dawning. "I don't understand. So all of this? What was it?"

"What needed to be done," she whispered shakily.

He was quiet. She could hear him draw breath in and let it out through his nose. "Great. Well, that's just great." He turned. She could hear and _feel_ him move towards the door. His plates stopped scraping before he reached it. The abrupt sound of metal meeting wood made her jump. "Damn it."

Kahrin turned, her brows both raised and her mouth pulled into a deep frown. "Alistair, I'm—"

"Oh, _shut up_ ," he spat before rounding on her. The frame of the door had obvious splinters from his gauntlet. "Tell me again. Tell me how much you believe in me and how good of a king you think I'll be. Tell, me, Kahrin, how you'll be here to support me." He shook his head at her. "Was anything you said to me true, or was it all to put me here on the throne? What do you get from all of this?"

"It's for the best," she managed. She blinked at him, taking a slow step back. "You'll be a wonderful king, but you need someone strong to help you."

His brow wrinkled in the middle. "I thought I had that. You said you'd be there to help me. You. The … the only person I have left in the world."

"That's not true, Alistair. You have Bann Teagan and Arl Eamon."

He snorted. "Yes. That will really make me feel better with a wife who looks at me like I'm something she stepped in."

"Give her a chance," she started. Her stomach twisted at the thought of him married to Anora. The age difference alone would be a barrier between them, but if he just tried … "She can help you."

"Like _you_ helped me?" The bitterness in his voice cut through the space between them. Kahrin turned her head away.

"I did what I thought was best."

"Stop saying that! How is this what is best when …" He raked fingers through his haphazard hair. "I can't do this. Not without you."

She winced. "You can. And you will." With a shaking breath, she turned back to face him. "You said to pick you."

"When did I say that?"

"Last night. When we …" She tilted her head to the side.

He stared at her hard, opening his mouth to protest. He snapped it shut, and narrowed his eyes, pieces clicking into place. "You and me. I meant you and me. Together."

"I'm sorry, Alistair."

"Yeah. Me too."

Kahrin took a step towards him, laying a hand on his arm. Alistair jerked it away, glaring, a sudden hardness in his eyes. She swallowed a lump in her throat then hugged her arms around herself. She nodded her head once, setting the look her mother had taught her upon her face.

"Well. I suppose there are things to work out before we go to Redcliffe."

"Don't worry about it," he snapped. "I have Bann Teagan and Arl Eamon and my _wife_ to be to help with that. I don't need you."

"Alistair," her voice fell low.

"Get out of my sight. I can't look at you right now."

Her mouth parted, taking in a short breath. She wanted to take it all back. She wanted to find the Queen and tell her she changed her mind. Instead of crumbling, and knowing how far they still had to go, Kahrin hardened her own face.

"Yes, my liege," she said with cold propriety. "As His Majesty wishes."

She moved around him and found the door, leaving it open behind her


End file.
